Blended Reality
by sg2009
Summary: John runs into his sons in a bar. And they seem to be under the impression he's been dead for three years. Season 4/5 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

John sat at the back corner table rubbing his graying beard. His instincts gnawed at him, jostling him that something was wrong. Jim Murphy, who was damn good with a gun for a priest, nested into the chair beside him, looking out of place in the dive bar. John surveyed the man – a priest in a dive bar with a forty-five. Good times.

He finished his beer and the pretty, red-haired waitress set down another bottle of Guinness, winking. She filled Jim's glass of water with less interest, if not a bit of irritation. If the priest noticed, he gave no indication. He gazed at the smoky bar crowd, his face ripe with disdain and devoid of judgment.

"I promised the sisters I'd return by Sunday mass."

John chuckled. "You're not scared of that gaggle of nuns, are you Jim?"

His friend smiled, kind and benevolent. "Yes. As you should be. My parish needs me. Lives needed saving here, John, but souls still need saving there." He paused. "You're always welcome in the church."

"Uh-huh." John took a swig of beer. "You know I have no room for religion beyond holy water and exorcisms, Jim."

The priest sighed. "Nevertheless, God will always have room for you if you choose…" His words cut off and Jim's eyes fell to the entrance. John followed his gaze to the door, allowing only a slight twitch of the lips at seeing his sons walking through it.

"Dammit…" They shouldn't be tracking him down. Part of him was impressed they'd found him, but still. They were supposed to be lying low. And they had no business here with him. Not until he'd killed that yellow-eyed bastard. Not until…

"John, they're your sons…"

"They wanted out." Sam at least. Dean wanted to keep his brother safe. "They made their choice, Jim, and I made mine. Hunting isn't a hobby. It's a life. You can't pop into it whenever you get the whim."

He caught Dean's gaze, frowning. Even if Sam didn't follow orders, his eldest knew better than to come after him. He had told Dean to keep Sam away from hunting after his girlfriend died and he'd meant it. Dammit, he expected Dean to behave better than this. The boys gave each other knowing glances and sauntered over to them.

"Huh." Dean said, gritting his teeth. Kid looked pissed. Well good, that made two of them. "What's this supposed to be? Your idea of some sick joke?"

The waitress returned. "Hi Dean, can I get you anything? How about it, Sam?"

So the boys had been in town for awhile. She smiled, her eyes undressing one son and then the other. John had seen that reaction enough on the road with his boys. Hell, he'd seen it trained on himself enough times. But it still pricked his protective urges. His kids were more than pieces of meat. Well, at least Dean seemed to enjoy that type of attention. But he ignored it this time, keeping his eyes set on him and Jim. Sam, however, turned to the girl.

"No thanks, Faye." Sam frowned, turning back to John. "Just need to deal with some…" he paused, like he was searching for the right description, "Family business."

The waitress moved closer to his youngest. "You need anything you let me know, sugar. You guys saved my life…" She stayed close for a moment. "And I pay my debts," she said, eyeing them both again before turning back to the room.

"So…" Dean smirked down at them – although it looked more like a wince than a grin. "Obsessed father and second rate priest. It's cute. Stupid. But cute."

John felt his temper flare. It was obvious his son was angry. But disrespecting Jim, he'd raised that boy better than that.

"Dean." John growled. "Show some respect…"

Dean moved forward, looking like he was going to throw a punch. John braced his arms against the table, pulling himself up.

Jim cleared his throat. "John, maybe we should talk…"

He waved his friend silent. If he needed to beat some sense into the kid, so be it. They could talk when the demon was dead. There was no excuse for his eldest behaving like this. Sam stepped between them, an irony not lost on John. He motioned to the door with a harder expression than John ever remembered seeing before. "Maybe we should take this outside?" Well, Sammy always was a smart one.

John nodded. "Yeah. Let's do that." He leveled Dean with an expression that typically had him cowering. The boy chuckled.

"Well, you're good. I'll give you that." Dean held his arm out. "After you… _Dad_." His voice was laced with malice. "I insist."

He shook his head, but headed for the door with Jim beside him. He'd know his kids anywhere and the boys were acting strange. Not like they weren't them, but there was something… Maybe some nasty had messed with their heads. Dean shoved him as they exited the building. John glared. Well, that kid better hope he was possessed because otherwise John was about to tear him a new one. Thirty wasn't too old for an ass-whooping in his book.

They moved out, around the building, and into the alley. He and Jim turned to face his sons.

Jim raised his arm in appeasement. "Maybe we should all calm down; no good ever came from…"

Sam snarled, pushing the priest against the brick with a large smack. "And maybe you should shut the hell up_._"

John eyes widened. "Sam!" His son tended to reserve that type of venom for his old man, not kindly priests. "What are…" The glint of a gun drew his attention.

"Back." Dean said pointing his semi-automatic at John's chest. The boy nodded towards the wall.

John raised his hands. "Okay. Okay. Just calm down, son." He moved to step towards Dean, felt his own weapon tickling at his side. Not that he had any intention of drawing on his kid.

"He said back." Sam had a 9mm aimed at him. Hmmm. He hadn't even noticed the Sammy was packing. Maybe he was starting to slip in his old age. Still. He'd taught those boys everything they knew. He glanced at Jim. They could disarm his sons if it came to it.

"Alright." John moved back. Not much, but enough to comply. He'd rather solve this with talking than fighting. "Dean, what are you doing here? And why'd you drag Sam along? I thought he was studying for the bar." Safe and away from this was left unspoken. There was more anger in his voice than he had wanted. His sons glared at him, wrath in their eyes. They were pissed, that was for sure. They were silent for a moment.

Dean smirked. "Yeah, right. And Mom's alive. And Jessica. And the world's not going towards hell on earth. Oh, and angels with fluffy wings and halos run around protecting people and shitting rainbows." He paused, voice becoming serious. "John's dead_._ Jim, too. Been that way for nearly three years. So what do you want."

John looked hard at his oldest. Dean meant that. The boys must think they were shifters or revenants. That would explain the malice, but three years?

"Dean. Your intel is wrong. I'm alive. Jim's alive." He shuffled forward. "I know I haven't kept in touch much these last years since Sammy's girlfriend died." He turned to his youngest, wishing he'd been able to protect Sam from that. He turned back toward Dean. "But you know me, son. I'm not dead. You're mistaken. Something's messing with your head." Certainly the kid would recognize his own father. It had been a few years, but he doubted anyone knew him as well as that boy.

"Only thing attempting to mess with my head right now is you. One step closer and I'll blow your lying brains out."

Well. Maybe John was wrong on that. He moved back. "Dean…"

His eldest paced, keeping his gun on John. Sam stayed still, his weapon aimed at Jim's head. "So, what's your game? You after something? Or maybe you just get your jollies disrespecting the memories of the dead?"

Jim coughed and turned on his priest voice. "Dean, Sam, listen to your father. You're wrong on this. We can solve this without violence."

Dean snorted. "What do you think about that, Sammy." He said in a sarcastic tone. He nodded towards his brother. "You think we can solve this without violence…"

John gave the priest the signal and rushed Dean before he could finish. He pushed at the gun, but Dean kept hold of it. He threw a punch. His son blocked, using his momentum to hurl him back against the wall. John grunted as the barrel of the gun was pushed under his chin.

"A little slow there, _Dad_." Dean said. He sounded calm. Controlled.

Shit. The kid might actually shoot him. He looked over. Sam had Jim mashed against the bricks, his large frame holding the priest trapped. He felt reluctantly impressed that his kids had gotten the jump on them. He might have trained them too well.

"It's me, son." John tried again. He felt his son tense where he was pushing him. But it wasn't because he believed him. There was someone else in the alleyway.

"Dean. Stop."

John's gaze fell past his son's shoulder. A guy in a long coat with striking eyes stood at the edge of the alley. He wasn't human. John was sure of that. This bastard would be sorry if he was screwing with his children.

Dean frowned, but kept the gun tucked under John's chin and didn't turn. "Why? You know what they are, Cas?"

The man in the trench coat turned his eyes on him. His expression remained unchanged, but John sensed something kin to surprise deep in his gaze. "They are telling the truth, Dean."

Confusion spilled over his oldest's face. "How's that possible? You said he was at peace. You promised me." Dean looked weary now. Worn. Like he'd suffered too many broken promises. And John didn't like seeing that on his son's face. Yeah, this trench coated son of a bitch would pay.

"I did not lie, Dean. But that is your father."

Dean looked over to the guy, loosening his grip. "Are you friggin' kidding me. Cas, did you do this?" He said, accusation in his tone.

The man turned towards his son, expression blank. "No. I did not."

"Then how is it possible?" Dean released his hold on John, but eyed him with suspicion. John noticed Sam had let Jim go as well and was watching his brother like a guard dog.

The guy – no the thing – John corrected himself, in the coat crossed his arms. "I'm sorry." He said. "I do not know."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean glowered at the cold, night air. He preferred to turn his anger on a tangible target. Problem was he didn't know if he should be pissed at the two 'not dead' men in the alley claiming to be his dad and Pastor Jim, the angel beside him who was being as cryptic as freakin' ever, or the universe in general. He turned his gaze up – glared at the stars. Yeah, the universe could kiss his ass. Sam turned from where he was talking to the men and came up to Dean.

"Well," Sam nodded back towards them. "From what I can gather, they think I went back to school after Jess died, and Dad apparently ordered you to keep an eye on me while he went hunting for the demon. That was three years ago. And he's been searching for Yellow eyes ever since."

Dean glared down the alley. "And the one that looks like Dad told you all that? That's more information than the man used to give us in a year, Sam."

His brother shrugged. "Actually, I got most of that from Jim. Dad just stood there glaring towards Cas. I'm betting he thinks he's a demon." Sam motioned back. His dad gazed at the angel with an expression that would make tough men quake; the angel stared back, looking curious.

"Okay." Dean eyed his brother. Sam's expression was hopeful. Dean huffed. "Sammy, you don't really believe it's him? He doesn't even have his information right. He thinks the demon is alive. He thinks you're testing to be some hotshot lawyer…"

Sam stepped closer, cutting him off. "Look, I know. But Cas said he was Dad. And despite everything, he's still an angel, Dean."

"Cas also said Dad was at rest." Dean waved his arms in frustration. He cocked his head towards the men. "You really think that's Dad? Does that look at rest to you? I don't think so."

One of Sam's exaggerated, long suffering sighs puffed from his lips. "Dean," he said, "We don't know what's going on here. Let's just take a few minutes to try to find out what's happening before we go back to throwing punches. What does the angel have to say?"

Dean shrugged. Frankly, he was surprised the angel hadn't flown the coop yet. His brother rolled his eyes.

"Dude, have you even talked to him?" Sam paused, waiting for an answer. When he didn't get one, he rubbed his head through his hair and scrunched his face into a condescending scowl. "Dean, go talk to him. He's the best chance we have to get to the bottom of this."

"Alright, fine. But you keep on eye on those two." Dean raised his voice so it could be heard down the alley. "And don't be afraid to shoot if they try anything sneaky."

Sam's face twisted in exasperation, but he regained his guarded stance and turned back. They needed to be careful, not trusting. Especially now. Dean stepped over to the angel, keeping his brother in his peripheral vision.

"So…" With the angel it was important to phrase the questions correctly. "You said that thing in the alley really is my dad?"

Cas turned his eyes towards Dean, but not his head. "Yes. That is John Winchester."

"But he died and moved on after he climbed out of hell, right?"

The angel's head turned to match his eyes. "That is correct."

Damn cryptic son of a bitch. "Okay. Then how can he be at rest, and standing over there in the alley, all at the same time? Could you explain that to me?" It was fleeting, but Dean saw the angel hesitate. "What?"

"Dean, I told you I did not know." Cas was using that voice again – the you're a child and don't understand, now drop it. Well, screw that.

"Look, man, if you know something, you need to tell me. This is my family that's being screwed with. This is personal."

"My suspicion is that he is…not of this world."

"Like a spirit or something?"

The angel pursed his lips. "No. Maybe I am not explaining myself well. I suspect he has fallen from a different version of this world. He is John Winchester, but is not the man that died on this world three years ago. He is a complement to that soul."

"Oh." Like that made sense. Dean's gaze flickered back on the man in the alley. "So, you're telling me, what? That there are all these alternate realities? With bizarro Dads running around, hunting things?"

"No. Just the one."

"Just the one? But you said he was from another world…"

"There is this reality." The angel nodded towards the sky. "And there is the one other reality. That's all. If all is lost in one of the worlds, pieces of human souls persist in the other."

"Uh…Okay?" It still sounded like bizzaro world to Dean.

"The worlds exist in parallel. They are similar but there are small differences between them. Part of the reason I was able to pull you from hell was because your piece of soul in that world was not yet damned."

That sounded like bullshit. Dean felt inexplicable anger well up. "You're telling me this other place is heaven's way of hedging its bet. If this world goes to hell, oh well, no problem, maybe the other version won't?" Something else started registered. "What do you mean that piece of my soul was not damned _yet_?"

The angel sighed this time. "It's complicated, Dean."

"Fine. Whatever." He'd hope that part of soul could take care of itself and stay out of hell. "How do we send other Dad and other Jim back to their world."

"Sometimes souls slip through the worlds. Some find their own way home, some stay where they have fallen. It has little impact on the grand scheme of the things."

Now that Dean wasn't hellbent on wasting the man that looked like his Dad, Cas seemed unconcerned about the matter. Dean halfway expected the angel to continue with 'you know, shit happens', but Cas stared at him and didn't say anything else.

"So you think they fell through some inter-dimensional gate and just happened to end up in the same bar with Sam and me. That's a hell of a coincidence if you ask me." And Dean's dad, Dean's real dad, had taught him coincidences were crap. "What could have done this? Something with a lot of power? A high level demon?"

"Demons do not have the ability to move between worlds. And no angel would create such a doorway. Only a creature that existed between the realities could truly open a portal." The angel's voice softened. "If you want to return them, you have to find access to such a door."

"Okay." Dean stared down at his feet letting the information settle. "So what types of things can open a…" He looked up. The angel was gone. "Dammit." He mumbled, turning towards the others.

Sam looked curious. Dean imagined his brother was going eat this up. Hell, geekboy would probably order some books on interdimesional physics or something. Jim seemed peaceful despite everything. Dean figured it must be a priest thing. And John, because Dean wasn't about to call this clone dad, looked pissed as hell.

Dean walked over. Okay. Now, how should he explain this shit to them?


	3. Chapter 3

"He said sometimes it happens." Dean seemed annoyed. "It didn't seem like it is a big deal to the order of the universe or anything. You know, just a pain in the ass for us."

John sure as hell didn't trust this 'Cas'. He hadn't seen him leave. Things that could disappear like that always needed to be put down. "And who, or what, exactly is he?"

The boys exchanged glances – the same way they had when they were ten and fourteen and John had asked them what started that fight at school. He sighed. He wasn't going to get the truth from them this time either.

"He's a friend." Dean said. Sam's eyebrow's shot up in surprise at the conviction in his brother's voice. Dean smirked. "He's a rebel. You know, off the grid."

"John," Jim Murphy spoke up stepping between him and his sons, "Boys, maybe we could continue this conversation somewhere other than the alley?"

Sam motioned towards the parking lot. "We have a room at the Purple Iris downtown. It'll be more private." Sadness flashed over his youngest's face. Sam inhaled. "It's good to see you, Dad. Last time I saw you, before you…well before, we were fighting, and I…I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

John felt himself melt a little. He placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "Me too, Sam. You and me…"

Dean snorted, cutting him off. "Can you two save the Lifetime moments for later? Jim's right, let's go." He stomped out to the parking lot.

This new attitude Dean was shoveling out was getting old fast. His youngest was finally falling in line and his oldest starts acting out. He shook his head. Well, that was life, but he didn't have to like it. He followed Dean to the broken asphalt deemed parking intent on having words with the boy. Sam and Jim stayed safely five steps behind like they sensed the coming tirade. Dean was opening the door of the Impala when John stopped, taken aback. He counted to ten trying to control his temper.

"Dean," he said, low and harsh, "Where is my truck?"

Dean straightened up, like he was coming to attention, but then slumped back into a frown. "How would I know, John?"

John felt himself bristle. Sammy had gone through a phase when he had tried to call him by his first name. It lasted about five minutes and the kid was twelve. Dean was too old for this kind of adolescent crap.

"I left it where you parked your car. And if you're not going to call me Dad, you can use _Sir_." His mouth turned down in anger. This type of stunt risked all their safety. "Your angry, Dean. Fine. Deal with it. Channel it into something useful. But don't play hide and seek with my car. I don't have time for it. Where's the truck, Dean?"

Dean stared at him for a moment, mouth agape. Then his lips twisted in amusement. "What part of alternate reality are you not getting here, _Sir_?"

**

The ride to the motel was tense. And quiet.

"Look, we'll prove it." Sam said fidgeting and turning to stare out the window.

John and Jim were treated to a garden of faded, pink rose wallpaper, white rose curtains, and yellow rose bedspreads as soon as the entered the room. There was a small table in the back of the room with a plastic vase of fake daffodils. There wasn't an iris in sight. Nothing was purple.

"Nice place, boys." John checked the windows for salt lines. They were present and intact. Good. They were being cautious.

Sam rolled his eyes pacing around. "Well, it's nicer than half the places we lived when we were kids."

John turned to look at him. He didn't sound angry, but there were burnt bridges and piles of ashes under those words. And he couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until Sammy's mood changed.

John ghosted his hand over the busy wallpaper. Sigils, some he didn't recognize, were carved discreetly into the paper. He frowned. The boys were being more than careful. They were worried. Well, he was here now to take care of everything. He sat down at the small table in the back of the room.

"So, both of you have…um…passed on here." Sam unpacked his laptop and turned it on. "Dad, you were using a fake name at the time, but there are articles and articles about Pastor Jim's death." Sam smiled at Jim. "It was a community tragedy." He tapped on some keys and motioned to the priest to sit.

"It says my throat was slit in the church." Jim frowned. "What was it?"

"A demon." Dean said.

"On hallowed ground? How is that possible?" His friend looked distressed. John couldn't blame him. He scooted closer. Links about Jim's death filled the search engine.

Dean shrugged. "One of hell's higher ups. Hallowed ground didn't seem to be a problem."

Jim clicked on an article about the current state of his church. "I pray the church continues to flourish."

"Sammy and I haven't been by in awhile. What can I say, the mystery is gone." His voice sounded defeated.

John looked up, towards his oldest. He still had reservations about this other world story, but he'd seen some strange things in his time. "So, how do you claim I was taken out?"

Dean hesitated. Guilt washed over his face and he turned away. "Demon."

"Same one that got Jim, or…"

"No." Dean frowned. "No. It was the demon. Yellow eyes."

"Okay." John sighed.

He'd hoped he'd be the one to kill it and had wanted to keep the boys as far away from that nasty bastard as possible. But guiltily he was also heartened to see his boys taking up the cause. They were well trained and knew their orders were to keep the family business going after he was gone. It might not be safe, but it was necessary. The most important thing was taking down that monster – not to mention every other evil thing fool enough to cross their paths. He contemplated his boys. Maybe they'd found out something about the demon that he hadn't.

"That demon's a sneaky son of a bitch. You two made any headway in tracking it down?"

Dean looked like he was going to say something, but then decided to stare at the flowered curtains instead.

"Umm…Dad," Sam gazed at the bump in his jacket, "Do you have your journal?"

John pulled the book from his inside pocket. "Always. Why?"

Sam reached into his duffle and pulled out a similar, leather bound packet. "Because I have it, too."

Sam set it on the table. John inhaled and put his version next to it. He compared the pages. Same handwriting. Many of the entries were alike, but they were not identical. Page nineteen listed Tallahassee as the site of the haunting instead of Jacksonville. And he had hunted a Wendigo in October of 1990. Sam's version had him searching for a vengeful spirit. And the writing in his son's copy stopped a few years earlier.

Sam placed his hand on his shoulder. "So, you believe us now?"

John grunted, looking back down at the pages. Sam was fidgety. Dean had developed an attitude. But wherever this was, these two felt like his sons. And, despite the disrespect, Dean appeared to be looking after his brother. He sighed. It was good to see his kids. Even some alternate version of them.

The thought made him wonder. He flipped through the other journal. The entry for Minnesota was in the same place, ripped out, like in his pages. He rubbed his beard. While he was visiting, he'd sneak away and give Adam a call. It was the least he could do. Poor kid probably had no idea the other him was dead.

Sam and Dean watched him. A look passed between his boys, but John didn't catch the meaning. He cleared his throat.

"Now, back to the demon. You two made any progress?"

"Dad," Sam's voice was all reason and opposing opinion, "We need to figure out how you and Jim got here. It's not random. That needs to be our first priority."

"No. The demon is and always will be our first priority. You know that Sam." He paused, motioning around the room. "This room is covered in protective sigils and salt. I don't care about other worlds and alternate realities. You know something about the demon, here, there, or in freaking lala land, you report it to me. Now, let's hear it."

"We're not protecting against Yellow eyes." Sam's tone flattened. "Dean killed it."

Jim looked up from the computer. John wasn't sure he had heard right. "What?"

"The demon. Dean killed it. Awhile ago." Sam crossed his arms. He inhaled, his expression darkening. "Yellow eyes isn't the problem. So can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"No. Tell me about the demon." John said stunned. A weight lifted from his shoulders. It had all been worth it. The training. The moving. Every broken bone; every missed birthday. Dean killed the demon. Good boy. And if Dean had killed it here, John could kill it back home. "How?"

Sam huffed. "The Colt. And the gun is gone. Stolen. So we can't give it to you. And we're almost positive it was destroyed." He gestured like that was the end of it. "So what were the two of you doing before we found you at the bar?"

"Wait." The pride John felt over learning they knew about the gun and used it passed. "You two found the fabled Colt." He turned to glare at Dean. "And then you let it get stolen?"

Dean shrugged and turned away. John knew he should let it go. But, dammit, if the kid still had the gun, he could bring it back with him and kill that bastard in his world. They may have had their vengeance, but John hadn't. The Yellow eyed bastard that killed his wife was still there; was still after his boy.

He'd been afraid to let Sam, his Sam, get too close to the thing, but maybe it was a mistake hiding him from it. This Sam was intact, and he seemed to be at least resigned to hunting, if not content. That was more than John had hoped for since the boy slammed the door for Stanford. He thumbed through the faded journal pages. Yeah, it might be time to take his sons off the bench when he returned. Give them the journal. Let them handle some of the grunt work. And he could use these two doppelgangers as a gauge of how they'd be able to handle themselves. Then he sighed. How could they have lost the damn gun?

"Hey," Not his Sam pushed into John's line of sight. "Don't get mad at him. I understand, Dad. I finally do. You have to kill that bastard. I know. And we can't give you the gun because we lost it. But not before Dean killed the damn thing. At least this version of it. Give him a break."

"Fine. Fine." John turned to his oldest. "Good job, Dean." It sounded more abrupt than he had intended.

Dean face fell. "Thanks, _Sir._" He mumbled, sounding petulant.

John stood up. "Now tell me everything you know about the gun and about the demon."

Sam looked pensive. Like he was considering it. But his voice came out harsh. "We're not your little soldiers, Dad. You can't order us around."

John stepped into Sam's space. Like hell he couldn't order them around. He was about to say as much, when Jim moved between them.

"John. Take a break."

"I'm not letting this go." John told the three of them. But at Jim's urging, he stepped out into the night. He'd calm down. Then he'd find out everything they knew.

**

It was cool outside. The lights of the motel cast a scattered glow over the pavement. John inhaled the late air.

"Nice night?"

He turned to find the waitress from the bar beside him. "Depends." He said.

Without the surrounding bar noise and booze smell, the small redhead appeared other-worldly. Or maybe she'd taken off whatever glamour she'd been wearing. John smelled the scent of heather and earth around her. Her hair shone too fiery in the half-light to be natural; her green eyes glowed under the moon. The boys had called her Faye. Huh. Faye. Fae. Funny. She was funny. John sighed. The fairy folk usually were. They were also dangerous.

She tiptoed around him, gliding over the pavement. "It's a reward." She paused. "For them. Not you. They saved me."

"They would've killed you if they knew what you were."

"Maybe."

"So you brought me here. I thought your kind liked kidnapping and keeping poor souls that struck your fancy."

She laughed and it sounded like wind chimes. "I thought about it. Taking them for myself. They deserve the honor. But there are quite a few claims on those two as is." A pout fell over her face. "Too much trouble. Shame. I wanted to keep them."

"They'd kill you."

She stepped back, seeming lost in thought. "But they did save me. I had to give them something."

"Okay. Fine. I'm here. Now you're going to send me back. I always carry cold iron. That's deadly to your kind, right?" It was a bluff. And John had no intention of leaving before he found out everything he could about how Yellow eyes had been killed. But dealing with the fae always required a hard line. "I'll kill you if I need too. I have things to do where I came from."

"Kill me and you're stuck here." She paused, thoughtful. "I brought you here for your sons, John."

"And Jim?"

She tilted her head, gazing at the late night sky. "Sometimes you need a priest." She turned back to look at him. "I'll send you back, when you deserve it. But I don't give out freebies, John. You shouldn't be worried about me. I'm harmless."

John doubted that.

She continued. "Besides, this town is crawling with demons. That should be your concern." She moved away. "I'll be at the bar. You come find me when it's time to go home. Until then, you should find out about your boys. They've been busy."

As John contemplated that, a whiff of cedar fell over the wind and she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Note: Sorry for the delay. This is supposed to be some ambiguous time after the season 4 finale. Anything that looks like a season 5 spoiler is just my guess so no worries reading it. Thanks for the feedback. It always helps!**_

Dean watched his brother and his Dad…no scratch that… his brother and John, go back and forth talking about the fae and the other world.

"Why didn't Tinkerbell just bring our real dad back to life?" He asked. They both stopped and peered at him.

"Fairies can't do that type of thing, Dean." Sam's snotty little voice rang out.

Dean flipped him off and leaned against the headboard, stuffing his mouth with a piece of day old pizza. The two condescending pricks could figure this out without his help then. Hell, what did he care? He wasn't lost. As long as other John stayed out of his way, he could visit from bizarro world as long as he wanted. He held up a slice for other Jim on the bed beside his, but the priest declined. Dean shrugged, stuffing it in his mouth too.

"I mean, they aren't really that strong." Sam didn't get it. He scrunched his face in dismay and sat down on the yellow rose comforter near the edge of the bed.

"Some are very strong, Sam. And they're good at opening doors." John sank into the chair at the table. Dean could tell he was getting fed up with Sam's questions. But the sneaky old bastard was playing nice. He did that when he wanted something. "And they enjoy playing games."

Sam crossed his arms. "But why? Why bring you both here? I don't understand what type of reward that's supposed to be."

John looked a little hurt with that statement. Dean snickered and felt a ball of pepperoni and crust lodge itself in his throat. He coughed, swatting his chest. The three men turned to stare at him. He swallowed, wiping his eyes.

"I'm good." New rule. No laughing when two or more food items were stuck in his mouth.

John blinked at him. "Something funny, son?"

Dean held up his hands and shook his head no. But he was finding it difficult not to laugh. This whole damn thing was funny. Before hell, he had wanted nothing more to see his Dad and even this dime store imitation would have sufficed. But now? John was pissed enough that he'd lost the colt. Wait until he found out he started the apocalypse. Oh yeah, and then he let Sammy get addicted to demon blood. Oh, and there was the whole Lucifer running free bit. They were trying to stop it and all, but who knew how that would go? He swallowed down another snicker.

The one good thing about this whole fiasco was he wouldn't have to face his father; tell him had badly he'd screwed up. And now basically a carbon copy of the man shows up. Yeah, life was freakin' hilarious.

He hadn't told Sam, but he was pretty sure he was on the angel's shit list. As soon as they didn't need him they'd probably toss him back in the pit. Besides, if by some miracle he got offered a heavenly pardon; Sam might be damned at this point. And he sure as hell wasn't letting them send his brother downstairs alone. Great – now he was thinking about hell. That always made him thirsty. He snorted and grabbed some water off the nightstand.

Sam peered at him, brow knitted in concern, until Dean became uncomfortable. He gave his brother the finger again.

"Mature." Sam huffed and turned back to the conversation. "Well, what do we do to get you back where you belong?" His brother stood up and started pacing the room again. Crap. Sam was already getting jittery.

"Don't worry about that, Sam. I have a plan for getting back." John leaned forward, radiating calm and confidence. And, dammit, it made Dean feel a bit safer. "But, first things first, tell me how you found the Colt?"

Sam stopped. His face turned red and his cheeks puffed out. Dean thought his brother's head might explode. "You're unbelievable. You know that."

He looked so much like the stubborn, rebellious Sammy he remembered from before Stanford, that Dean felt a strange wave of nostalgia. But then Sam sat back down on the edge of the bed, knee bouncing up and down, and all Dean could think his brother was going to need a fix soon. Sam stood up again and strode over to the door.

"Sam," John said with a tone that suggested he was placating them, "Stop. Lay down, son. Jim and I aren't getting home tonight." Then his father looked thoughtful. He inhaled. "We can figure this out in the morning. It's late. A few hours shuteye will do us all some good."

Dean thought Sam would argue. He puffed up again, but then deflated like a ruptured tire. Kid looked exhausted.

"Okay." He said sounding and seeming young despite all the physical space he took up.

And that brought up the other emotion Dean had been feeling since running into these two jokers. Actually, the emotion he'd been feeling since running into Adam. He wanted to thrash John. Forcing Dean into this life, that was one thing. Hell, the angels said it was his destiny, although he didn't believe in that crap. But his Dad could have at least tried harder for Sam.

Dean had believed, he had truly, honestly believed that their Dad had done his best for them. But then he met Adam, and Adam got a father, not a drill sergeant. Adam got to go to ball games and got to go fishing for fun. Dean was glad his littlest brother got that. He seemed like a good kid. But damn was he jealous of that life, even if it was unfairly cut short. Cause, frankly, dead…well dead and not in hell…was pretty tempting.

"We'll get a second room tomorrow." Sam yawned crawling beside the priest on top of the covers.

Dean watched, eyes big with disbelief, as John walked around his bed and sat beside him on top of the cover.

"You know," Dean fidgeted, trying to make the bed bumpy and knocking the man with his boots. "There's a perfectly comfortable floor about two feet down, John."

"Is that so?" John pulled a pillow from under the blanket and turned towards the door. His voice came out exasperated. "Go to sleep, Dean."

"Whatever." He said, pulling his own pillow out. Dean turned away and closed his eyes.

**

Dean awoke, startled. Heat and putrid smells and pain radiated from his dreams and dissipated like thick smoke as he sat up.

"You were dreaming."

Dean didn't honestly know if the angel was being concerned or was being a smartass. Cas leaned against the door frame. The others in the room remained asleep.

"Apparently, I still am. What do you want?" He sat up, scooting back against the headboard.

"You have not had nightmares in several months now."

"Okay." That didn't really answer his question. He'd try again. "Why are you here?"

"The demons in this town are numerous, be careful." The angel paused. "I cannot condone what you are doing, Dean."

Dean glared. "If you hadn't let Sam out when he was detoxing before, we wouldn't have to do this. Now, he can't survive going cold turkey."

"Perhaps I should not have told you that."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have done that." Dean motioned towards the sleeping men. "Do you know how to get those two back?"

"That is up to John."

"Right." He stood up, crossing his arms. "No reason for you to help with that."

Cas's face twitched in something approaching annoyance. Dean bit his bottom lip. It wasn't smart to alienate the one winged freak that he kinda liked. The angel's face returned to stone.

"Thirteen West Almond Street. There are two demons there, separated from the others in town. You can get what you need for Sam. But remember, there are more important matters than your brother."

Dean bristled. "Regardless of what you and _your_ brothers think," and he knew this was true in his gut, "this won't get fixed without _mine_."

Next thing he knew, he was blinking awake. Again.

**

John watched his son sit up, going from sleep to lucidity in under three seconds. His pale face lacked the restful lines that came after a good night's sleep. Not that he was surprised. Dean had spent the few hours he had been asleep twitching with his face set in pain. It worried him. As far as he knew, Dean hadn't had a nightmare since he was five.

His son rubbed his eyes. "We should split up after breakfast." His demanding tone irked John. "John, you and Sam go check around the bar where we ran into Faye. I have another lead, an address, I need to check on that." Then he paused, looking thoughtful, "Jim, you're with me."

"Dean…" John started, warning in his tone.

"You got a better idea?"

"Fine." John shook his head. "But the only reason I'm cutting you any slack with this attitude is because you look like hell warmed over."

Dean snorted. "Dude, you don't know the half of it."

John grabbed his coat, ignoring his oldest. Some alone time with Sam was a good idea. He needed one of the boys to tell him about the demon. His and Mary's youngest might open up more without his brother and his new attitude in the way. He shook his head.

He spent most of breakfast trying not to strangle his son. Dean could be a major pain in the ass when he wanted. John would have been reluctantly impressed if the brunt of his attitude wasn't turned on him. For the first time, he felt a modicum of sympathy for the multitude of teachers, principles, and police officers that had complained about Dean over the years. The boy could dish it out with the best of them. But he kept his composure. Besides, the slightest reprimand laid on Dean made Sam bristle. And he was trying to keep at least one of them in his good graces.

Dean got up to leave when the check came. "We're taking the car. You and Sam can walk." John glared. Dean turned away and strutted out the door. Jim pushed up, shooting John a sympathetic, knowing expression, and followed him out. The priest had always said Dean would rebel one day. But once the boy had passed twenty-five John had figured he was safe. He should have known better. One thing this job taught you was that no one was ever safe. He crinkled a sugar packet in his fist.

"Don't worry." Sam said, picking up the bill. "I'll get us a rental." He fumbled with his money clip, pulling out a black credit card first and then a blue and pink one from between the green bills. He gave the black card to the waitress and handed the other one to John. Sam looked at him, eyebrows raised. "We don't know if yours will work. Take it, you know, for emergencies."

His kids were damn bossy here. John groaned, pocketing the card. They walked the three blocks to the rental place. He waited a few minutes after Sam disappeared into Hertz to stride over to the pay phone. Turning away from the building so he could keep an eye on the street, he used the obnoxiously colored card to dial the University of Wisconsin switch board. The operator answered on the eighth ring.

"Yeah, could you connect me to Adam…"

A hand tapped his shoulder. John turned to see Sam, car key in hand, looming behind him.

"Dad," Sam's voice was hard. "Hang up."

It sounded like an order to John and it would be a cold day in hell when he started following Sammy's orders. His mouth twitched down and he told the operator to hold – well he told the operator that since she didn't pick up until the eighth ring, she could wait her ass for a moment – and peered at his son.

"This is important, Sam." His voice came out low and rough. John waved his son away. "Not to mention private."

Sam stilled, angry eyes fixed on him. Then he reached across John's chest and pushed down the metal phone cradle, hanging up the phone. John inhaled, turning towards his boy. He felt his muscles clinch. Heat inched into his cheeks. He'd known Sam's good behavior wouldn't last long. At least this was familiar. He was used to having it out with Sam.

"Care to explain yourself, son?"

"Ghouls." Sam said it like it meant something. His face flashed from angry to sad to angry again, like he couldn't decide what he was feeling. His mouth tightened and his glare returned. Angry then.

"Ghouls?" John repeated.

"Yeah, Dad, ghouls." Sam pushed further into his space, face flushing. "After all the crap you gave me about wanting normal, you go play house with Adam and his mom. Dean and I were lucky to see you on our birthdays, and you go take this kid to ballgames and on fishing trips. You're a freakin' hypocrite."

John prickled. The boys weren't supposed to find out about any of that. That sinking feeling that always surfaced when someone questioned his parenting skills ushered through his limbs – as did the tight anger that always followed. He stiffened.

"That's none of your business, Sam. Let's get this damn car." He turned towards the lot behind the building. Sam followed, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.

"None of my business? Really?" Sam threw his hands up. "Then tell me this – how come Dean and I end up having to clean up all your messes? Huh? Do you have any other kids we need to know about?"

John grabbed the key from Sam's hand, and strode behind the building. He scanned the lot, frowning, and went to Car number 19. Sam had rented a damn Honda Civic. John set his hand on the silver hood, hearing Sam stomp up behind him.

John turned to him. It didn't make sense. "What does this have to do with ghouls, son?" He felt an uneasy fluttering in his guts. He'd been hunting a ghoul when he'd met Adam's mom. But ghouls didn't hurt the living. They were pests – feasting on the dead.

Sorrow passed over Sam's face. He looked down, shaking his head. When he raised it back up, his expression had become hard.

"Your perfect little family is dead, Dad."

Dead? That couldn't be right. Sam was wrong. He had kept Adam and his mom as far away from the life as possible. He crinkled his brow, thinking. When was the last time he'd checked on the boy back home?

He blinked at Sam. "Dead?"

"Ghouls killed them…for revenge. So I guess you were right. All along." Sam's voice sounded bitter. He yelled. "I should have figured it out after Stanford, after Jessica. But I get it now. Better soldiers than oblivious pieces of meat. I mean, we might not get to be happy or to feel safe, but at least were alive. Right. Right?" Sam hugged his chest, his voice softening. "Don't worry, though, Dean and I took care of…"

Sam's eyes squinted in pain and he stumbled over, going down hard. A demon, riding a thin man in a cheap suit, had felled his son with a wrench to the head. Black eyes flickered on the man's face making him look like a demonic used car salesman. Sam didn't get up.

On reflex, he rushed the demon, knocking the wrench from his hand. He grabbed the demon, slamming its head against the silver hood of the civic. It connected with a hollow whoomp. The demon pulled free, snarling. It turned towards him, blood seeping down its forehead, pooling near Sam's still form, and smiled.

John pushed his shock and still forming grief to the back of his mind. Right now, he needed to worry about saving his living son, not mourning the dead one.


	5. Chapter 5

John blinked into consciousness in a dim room that looked like the interior of a tool shed. The smell of oil and sawdust sat heavy in the space. An industrial sink dripped in the corner, and wrenches and shovels hung attached to the far wall. He glanced down, finding his wrists and ankles tied to an uncomfortable chair that felt surprisingly sturdy for its state of disrepair. Where the hell? A form approached.

"Well, if it's the not-so-late, not-so-great, John Winchester. This is a surprise." The voice belonged to the sleazy demon that attacked him and Sam in the parking lot. It contemplated him for a moment. "I wonder what type of bounty I can get for you." The thing mumbled.

John surveyed the room again. His gun and Sam's knife, the magic knife, as Dean had called it, were piled in the corner. Foggy images floated into his head. He and this bastard had been fighting. How'd that end? He slammed the things head into the Civic. Then it swung hard at him and…he woke up here. Not so good then.

"Do I know you?" John gruffed out. He pulled at the ropes tying his hands. The rough fibers scratched his wrists.

"You can call me Ted." It pointed to a grubby Hertz name tag on the suit. The demon stuck out a bony hand and faux-frowned. "No introductory shake? All tied up, huh." Its eyes drifted to Sam, roped to a chair beside the wall.

Sam groaned, shaking his head. The thing grabbed his hair, forcing his face up. Red dribbled down his forehead and chin from the earlier blow. The right side of his face was ruddy from the demon blood that had pooled by his still form in the scuffle between John and it.

"Now your boys, John." It said, jerking Sam's head to the side. "They're the prize. Pay dirt. Career makers." He released Sam's hair and stroked his son's face. John saw Sam blinking, licking his lips, trying to pull himself to consciousness. The thing slammed his head hard against the wall behind him and he stilled. "But I suppose you know that…"

"Leave him alone." John said low and harsh. Demons always wanted Sam. Seeing one near his son, any version of his son, turned his stomach. "You bastards better stay away from him." And then as an afterthought he added, "Dean, too."

"Yeah. That's a special boy you got." The demon took off his tie. "We had him for what? Thirty, forty years…"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know he screamed for you sometimes – mostly for his brother, though. Hell, he even screamed for his mother." The demon smiled. "It was like music. All that pain." He patted John's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure you remember how it is down there." The demon gave him an appraising look. "You do remember, right?"

John snarled at him. If they'd so much as laid a hand on Sam...

"What do you want?" John said.

"But you Winchesters just keep crawling back out." He shook his head and stuffed the tie into John's mouth muffling him. The taste of old polyester tickled his tongue.

The demon shook its head. "Not fair. But I'll get some well deserved shore leave for delivering you to the big boys." He reached into Sam's pocket fumbling around. For a horrific moment, John thought that the demon was feeling him up, but then he moved back with Sam's cell phone in his bony fingers. "But, you know, they'll be more impressed if I get the complete set."

**

Cas was a good guy…ur…angel…whatever, because the two demons he'd suggested they go after ended up being the two easiest exorcisms of Dean's long, sordid career. It didn't hurt that the priest was good with the Latin either. Both hosts were alive and he had collected enough blood to continue weaning Sam off his addiction for a few weeks. Dean grinned, humming to himself, and pulled the car onto the road. He glanced at Jim beside him; feeling strange to see someone other than Sam in that seat. The priest wore a look of consternation. Dean turned back to the road and revved the engine.

"I've never heard of blood-letting being necessary for exorcism rites."

Dean frowned. "Jim, I told you it was part of it. Those poor bastards are living, kicking, and un-possessed now. A little blood loss in exchange for that is nothing. I put it a win."

The priest was silent. Dean reached for the radio.

"Why do you need the blood now that the victims are safe?" The priest held up one of the silver flasks. "These 'holy bottles' you're storing it in look a lot like whiskey flasks to me, Dean." He paused, mouth twisted in dismay. "Anything involving demonic blood can't be good, son. If you're in trouble, I'm here for you - for confession, or guidance, or to listen. You have friends here, Dean. Don't do anything foolish."

Dean's choked back a laugh and pulled his hand back. This conversation was planted with landmines. And foolish? Jim had no idea. He was opening his mouth to say just that when his phone rang.

"Thank god…" He muttered, flipping open his phone. "Sam, what's up? You find the fairy?"

"Dean?"

Not Sam's voice. Dean felt his stomach twist.

"Who's this?" Dean said. Jim straightened in the passenger seat, lips pursed in concern.

The voice chuckled. "You know, Daddy seems a bit clueless to what you boys been up to." The tone turned into a whisper. "And between me and you, I think the old man's gone and forgotten hell. Didn't think that was possible. But I know you still remember, huh?"

"Where are they, you sonuvabitch…" Dean felt the familiar ache of worry in his gut. Sam and John would be alright. They'd be alright.

"Ted."

Dean blinked at the phone. "What?"

"I'm Ted. I am today, anyway."

"Okay…Ted...where the hell are they you sorry sonuvabitch."

"Here. With me. Hold on…" Dean heard a clicking over the phone and then the demon's heavy breathing returned. "You come here alone and unarmed and maybe I'll let them go. I'll text the address with the picture of dear old dad. He and I have a lot to talk about while we're waiting." Ted hung up.

Ten seconds later, Dean's phone buzzed with an incoming message. He opened it up to see a pissed looking John Winchester scowling daggers at him with a cheap tie stuck partway in his mouth. The end was flipped out and hanging from his mouth like a freaky tongue. If he wasn't so worried, it'd be some pretty funny shit. Dean saved the picture. He turned towards the priest.

"Padre, we've got a problem."

**

The demon pushed the phone off and tossed it to the ground. He flipped an old bucket upside down and pulled it over to sit in front of John.

"Don't worry, I've got three friends coming in case Dean's a problem when he shows up."

John glowered. Dean wouldn't come here unprepared – at least John hoped he wouldn't anyway. His Dean had always been reckless where Sam was concerned. He glanced at Sam who was beginning to move against his ropes.

"And I figure it's better to keep Sammy here unconscious. Don't you think?" The demon shuffled over to Sam and pulled his head back by his long hair. He looked like he was going to slam him against the wall again, but reconsidered at the last moment. "You don't know, do you? About Sammy here?"

John stared at him, inhaling through his nose.

"About the demon blood." The demon paused like he was waiting for an answer. "You don't know much of anything anymore, huh, John?"

John sneered, trying to spit out the polyester tie. He knew all about Sam and the demon blood. That yellow eyed bastard had bled in Sam's mouth when he was a baby. But his boy was human. And a good hunter. That's all that mattered.

"You think you do, but you're wrong. Maybe a little demonstration. Not much. Don't want him going all Carrie after prom night on me." It lightly slapped Sam's cheek. "Sam. Sam? You in there?" Sam blinked a few times, and then his eyes shot around the room taking in the situation before stopping on John.

"Dad…" Sam licked his lips. "You alright?"

John nodded yes and then towards the demon. It smiled down at Sam as he turned towards it.

"I'm not really supposed to do this, Sam, but I thought John here should know what you really are – don't you agree?" The demon pulled a Swiss army knife from his suit pocket. "Just a taste now, Sam."

Sam's eyes got wide. "No…I'm trying to stop…I'm not doing that anymore…" He clamped his mouth shut.

"Sam. You don't have to have it. I'm just offering it in case you want it…" The demon watched John's face as it sliced its arm with the blade. "Live a little, Sam." The blood trickled down its arm smelling thick of iron and sulfur.

Some of it fell on Sam's lips. He kept them clamped shut – for a minute or so. Then John saw the resistance fall from his face. And Sam began slurping the blood into his mouth.

The demon's eyes flashed black and caught John's gaze. Its smug tone echoed in the shed. "He's more of ours than yours these days."

But it should have been watching Sam. The kid's chair was obviously less sturdy than John's because it was splintering away from Sam's arms as he lunged at the demon. John watched as they rolled on the floor, Sam's mouth latched on to the things arm where it had cut itself.

John clenched his jaw. Well, he had taught the boys that biting was a perfectly good way to impart injury in a fight. John's stomach sank. That's all this was about – nothing to do with the blood. He shook his head. Dammit. He had seen too many terrible things to lie to himself now. This was all about the blood.

"No." Sam grunted out, throwing the demon away from him. It thudded against the floor. "I'm not…not that anymore." He stood up, towering over the demon on the floor. He sounded sad but looked pissed. The demon cackled.

"You keep telling yourself that, Sam." It said. "But I think we both know the truth."

"Maybe so." Sam wiped his bloodied chin with his sleeve. "But, you know what? You really shouldn't have done that."

"What you gonna do Sam?" It said, struggling to its feet. "Just remember, Daddy's watching."

Sam glanced at John. His eyes flashed with uncertainty.

The demon grinned – stepping backwards to open the door to the shed. "Knew it was a good idea to call for reinforcements."

As three large, possessed men lumbered in the door, Sam's expression turned fierce. John knew the odds of Sam beating four demons were low. His gut twisted. John also knew the boy wouldn't go down without a hell of a fight, and a bit of pride intermingled with his stomach-turning worry.

John watched, straining against his ropes, as the demons rushed Sam. Sam held up his hand and the monsters flew back across the room, rattling the shovels hanging on the walls. The men lumbered up.

Sam squeezed his fist, concentrating on the sleazy, talkative one. It panted, falling to the floor dead. John gasped through the polyester. No human could do what Sam had just done. His son turned his attention on the next one, a big guy in plaid, taking the demon out the same way.

Sam faced off with the third one, whose host looked like a construction worker. Their eyes were locked as they moved around each other in the small space. While Sam concentrated on it, John watched helplessly silent as demon number four sprang up from behind and swung a shovel at the back of his boy's head. There was a loud whack. Sam went sprawling towards the corner of the shed. He popped right back up, knife in hand, blood dribbling down his forehead again.

"Out of mojo, already? That's a shame, Sam." The one with the shovel leered.

Sam growled. He dove at him, slashing at its throat. He spun back hitting the other squarely in the chest. Their eyes flashed and they fell, dead and bloody at Sam's feet. John stared. That explained the magic knife. And Sam always was good with blades. His son stared down at the fallen bodies for a moment, rubbing the back of his head and grimacing in pain.

"Dad…" Sam said stumbling forward and falling in front of John. He untied him with shaky hands, not looking up as he did it. "Dad," he said, staring at the floor and pulling the tie from his mouth, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Sam, I..." John couldn't find the words. Sam had turned into something else.

"You should kill me. You should do it. You saw what I am, Dad. Dean will never do it. He won't." Sam's voice rang confident and terrified. He turned away, his tone softening to a heartbreaking low. "He thinks I'm some sort of victim or something." He wobbled back to the corner and picked up John's gun. "Do it, Dad. Just do it. You know I'm not normal." Sam sounded desperate. He pushed the gun into John's fingers. "Come on, Dad. You saw what I am. I could turn. I already…" He shook his head, unsaid words stuck in his throat. He slumped down against the wall, tears wetting his cheeks.

John flipped off the safety. There was a moment where John thought about shooting him. It was fleeting, but it was there. He put the gun away

"No. No Sammy. You'll be okay."

He stared at Sam, afraid for him, and barely noticed Dean barreling into the shed.

"Hey." Dean yelled. He ran in front of John and looked him over, concern evident in his expression. "Da…" He started, then stopped, shaking the word out of his head, "I mean, John, are you guys alright?"

John huffed, moving away from him. He squatted near Sam.

"Come on, Sammy. We'll fix this." John picked him up under the shoulders, helping him stand. Sam wobbled on his feet. Dean came around the other side. John pushed him back. "I got it, Dean."

Dean frowned. "Let me help. You're not looking so hot either. It will be easier for both of you."

Sam groaned, turning his head down towards John's shoulder. Cold guilt crept into his stomach. He'd thought about it. He'd actually thought about shooting him – flipped off the safety and everything. John pulled him closer, waving Dean off.

"I think you've done enough."

Dean blinked at him, ducking under Sam's other arm. "You're both banged up. Put the weight on me."

Sam shifted, leaning into his brother. His shoulders slumped and his breathing was quick and deep.

"Calm down, Sam. We got you." Dean said, pulling them toward the door.

Dean yelled out the door to Jim that they were safe and to go get the car. Sam slumped as the blows to the head overpowered any adrenalin that had kept him going.

"Let's get him back to the motel." John tightened his hold. He scowled across Sam's broad chest at his oldest. "Did you know your brother's been drinking demon blood?"

Dean paled. "That's really none of your business, is it." He said, returning the scowl.

"I guess that's a yes." Not that he was surprised. Dean always knew what was happening with his brother. "Torture, blood drinking. The poor kid hasn't had a break. You're supposed to look after him, Dean."

Dean stopped, looked past Sam to John. "This isn't my fault." He said.

John pulled Sam closer. Part of him knew it was irrational to be mad at Dean; that he'd feel a flood of guilt later, but he couldn't help it. His child had been hurt, was still hurting. When he wasn't around, Dean was supposed to protect him from those types of things. That's just the way it was. And now Sam had been tortured and driven to drink demon blood. A hot rush of anger pulled in John's face.

"How could you let this happen to him, Dean?"

"You know what, screw you, John." Dean sounded as angry as John felt. "You're just an obsessed bastard, you know that."

"What did you say to me?" John hissed back.

"John…" Jim was watching them from the door. John hadn't seen him enter. He wasn't sure how much his friend had heard, but he had a feeling he'd get an earful from the man as soon as they were alone. "We should get Sam back." Jim said, holding the door open.

**

After they got Sam patched up at the motel and Dean was confident he could trust John to watch over him, he stormed out the door. If he stayed in the room, he might shoot the man. He sat down on a green bench in a grassy area beside the hotel. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

"He's upset Dean. He didn't mean it."

Dean looked up to find Jim hovering over him. He wanted to be alone. But apparently on the rare occasions like these when he felt that way, the powers to be decided to spring an angel or a priest or some other annoying tool on him.

He shrugged. "I really don't care. He's not my father, Jim. He doesn't know me. Neither do you."

"Fair enough." The priest moved to sit next to him. He remained quiet for several minutes before speaking gently. "But he's a lot like him?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I guess."

"You and Sam, you're not like our Dean and Sam."

Dean shrugged. "We look the same. So do shapeshifters. Doesn't make us the same."

"But I still feel connected. I mean I feel close to you. You feel like family."

Dean sighed. He made sure to do it in a loud and obvious way so Jim understood he didn't want the company or the conversation. "Yeah. Okay. Whatever." He snapped, in case the sigh wasn't hint enough for the priest to leave him be.

Jim put his hand on his elbow. "Dean, Sam has been hurt, tortured if I understand it right. John's angry. Feels like he should have been able to protect him…doesn't matter if it's not his Sam. He's close enough. John's lashing out. He's not mad at you."

Apparently the friggin' priest couldn't take a hint. Dean wasn't against the direct route. "Fine, you wanna talk to me. I agree – it's been hard on Sam. And I don't care if he's mad at me or not. But I am pissed as hell at him. Can you leave me alone now?"

"This can't be easy on you either. No one's to blame here, Dean."

Dean snorted. He could think of lots of people and angels and demons to blame. And, yeah, his own name belonged near the top of that list. The priest inhaled, chest expanding as he drew in a slow breath.

"Dean, Sam drinking demon blood - is that why you collected the…"

"We're weaning him off." Dean cut in. "He can't survive going cold turkey. He's making progress."

Jim looked like he wanted to say more about it, but decided to wait. The priest cleared his throat.

"The demon said something to John about Sam being tortured in hell."

"Demon's lie."

"John thinks it was telling the truth on this one. He needs to know what happened, Dean. He can help. I think he's afraid to ask Sam about it. Your brother is barely hanging on here. He's hurt. And I'm not talking physically."

"Sam's not some fragile soul. He's hurting, but he's tough." It was apparent to Dean, the man had no idea how strong his brother was – and Dean wasn't talking physically either. "He's a survivor." He snapped. "And he wasn't tortured in hell. Don't ask him about it. Just drop it, man."

Jim nodded, but he didn't wear a look of acquiescence. He leaned closer. "John has good instincts. He seems to think otherwise. And he's not going to let this go. Dean, let us help you and Sam. Your brother needs this."

"Dad must have misunderstood. Sam wasn't tortured in hell. I wouldn't let that happen." He crossed his arms, daring the priest to challenge him.

"Dean, no one's blaming you…"

Dean pushed up from the bench. He really wanted to hit something. The damn, nosy priest was a tempting target. Jim must have sensed his anger because he put his hands up like he was surrendering.

"I just want to help. It doesn't matter that you're not the boys I know. I care about you. And so does John. Talk to me." He paused. "Or, at least, talk to him – if not for yourself, for your brother."

Hell. No. That was one conversation Dean had no intention of ever having. He relaxed his arms and smirked at the priest.

"Thanks for the advice Jim, but…no. I don't think so. It'll be a cold day in hell before I do that, and, newsflash; it's never cold down there."

Dean sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist. He needed to find something to hit before he knocked Jim on his ass. An image of Faye flashed in his head. What he should do, it occurred to him, was find that damned fairy and strangle her sorry ass. Which reminded him…

"Look, right now, we need to be tracking down Faye. The fair folk get bored with their playthings pretty quick. I don't know what type of reward this is supposed to be or what John is supposed to do to get her to send you two back, but we need to force the issue before she gets tired of this and flitters off into the forest. The other stuff can wait."

"No." The priest smiled at him, eyes full of kindness.

"No? What the hell do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean, one way or another you need to deal with this. If not for you, do it for Sam. Come on, Dean. You need to face what happened to your brother. Besides, you really think John's going to willingly go back with all of this going on."

Dean threw his hands up. "He always left whenever it got tough. You telling me your version of the man is any different." He hadn't meant to say that. It really was time he got a better hold on his temper and his mouth. Jim looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

Dammit. The last thing he needed was the man's pity.

"Well, he's not leaving this time. I guarantee it. And neither am I."

Dean wanted to pound his head against the wall, all the while cursing the stubborn bastard sitting in front of him. It probably wouldn't get rid of him though. He paced back and forth four times before sitting back down beside the priest.

"Okay. Okay. I'll make a deal with you." Dean said.

"Alright." Jim looked hesitant. "What type of deal?"

"I'll tell you all about it. Tell you about Sam and hell. I'll confess everything, okay. And, in return, you help me get you and John back to where you belong. But it all has to be in confidence. I tell you now. You don't tell John. You don't mention it again."

Jim's face ticked in confusion. "Dean, my whole point is I think he should know what…"

"Look padre, that's the deal. Take it or leave it."

The priest's face twisted in thought. Dean was about to give up and walk away when he finally answered. "Okay. Fine." Jim straightened his collar. "So, how long has it been since your last confession, my child?"

Dean laughed. "You're kidding me, right?" He shifted, took a deep breath. "Okay, see Sam was never in hell. That was me."

The priest's eyebrows went up. "You?"

"Yeah. Aren't you just supposed to listen at first? Anyway, I kinda sold my soul, so I was the one in hell. That's why I couldn't keep an eye on the kid." Dean looked away from the priest and used fast, efficient words to tell him about breaking the first seal and getting sprung by Cas. "So that's it. See? We gotta get you home so we can finish fighting demons and angels and the apocalypse."

Jim stared at him. "You were rescued by an _angel_?" Jim seemed awed at the mention of angels. It was probably the reaction the pricks had expected from him when he met them. Dean grinned. Yeah. He hadn't been impressed yet by those jerks.

The priest put his hand to his heart and looked to the sky. "Dean, I don't know what to say…"

"How about nothing? I told you what you wanted to know. Sam, despite his problems, was not tortured. Not in hell anyway. So that issue should be done. And you promised to help me get you and John home." He said as the priest looked at him with his mouth agape. Dean stood up, turned towards the motel room. Then he stopped and caught the priest's kind eyes. "And you can't tell John – remember the whole sinner/priest privilege thing holds. I'm ashamed enough about what happened. He doesn't need to know about it."

Jim continued to stare at him. "Dean, I think we should tell..." He started.

"No. Not now. Not ever. You promised. No more talking about this." Dean shook his head and trudged back to the room. "The subject is closed."


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was beginning to sink into the trees behind the motel, but Dean wasn't quite ready to go back to the room and face John. Instead, he went to the office. The gray-haired woman behind the counter pulled a spindly cigarette out of her mouth and nodded in greeting.

Dean nodded in return. "Hey, I need a second room for the night."

She pushed the cigarette out in a daisy-shaped ash tray. "Got an empty one next to yours, if you want it."

Dean thought about it. "You got anything a little further away?"

He walked into the first room jingling the keys to a second room – a second room at the other end of the motel. Dean paused before opening the door. He took a shaky breath and pushed inside.

Sam was stretched out on the bed with his eyes squinted shut. His face seemed pained, but he was breathing slow and even like he was asleep. John sat at the table in the back, looking up as he came into the room.

"I got a second room. No doubling up tonight." Dean walked over to the bed, taking in Sam's appearance.

"His head's killing him, but he'll be fine." John said.

Dean grunted. The insignificance of injury was because of the demon blood. Sam seemed to heal faster after he'd had a fix. But using his powers also knocked him on his ass. He'd likely been out the whole time Dean had been gone.

"You and Jim have room fifteen." He tossed the keys to John. "You can thank Mr. Tyler for the accommodations." Dean glanced around the room. He'd been counting on the priest to play peace-maker between him and John. "Where is Jim, anyway?"

John sighed. "He said he needed some time to pray. I told him to bring back food." He motioned to the chair beside him. "Sit down, Dean."

Dean sat. "We should find Faye."

"We will." John leveled his gaze at Dean. "Tell me what happened to Sam."

Dean glanced towards the bed. "He's right there. Ask him when he wakes up."

"I'm asking you, Dean." John was trying to stay calm, but Dean heard the underlying growl in his voice.

Dean gulped, throat suddenly dry. "It's under control. We're fixing it."

John's gaze drifted to Sam – his face becoming sad. "How'd he come to this?"

John turned to look back at him. Eye to eye, Dean saw more than grief in John's expression. There was something else, too. Maybe disappointment? Dean looked away. He stared at the carpet.

"He was tricked." He shrugged. "You know, long con, pretty girl."

"I want details, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth, not quite sure whether he was going to tell the truth or make some crap up when Sam grumbled from the bed.

"Not his fault, Dad…" Sam struggled up. Dean could tell his head was still pounding. "I don't…I had to…I'm sorry." He finished, nice and articulate, like the college boy he was. He moved to sit on the edge of his bed.

"What happened, Sam?" John said.

Dean caught his brother's eyes. It was written in Sam's thoughtful frown. He wanted to tell John everything. Dean turned away. His brother might keep secrets, but when he came clean, he power-washed. Dean felt his face color and nodded an imperceptible 'no' at his brother.

Sam shook his head – fixing Dean with a sad, frustrated pout. Finally, his brother turned to John.

"I'll tell you everything…" Sam said.

Dean inhaled.

"About me." His brother added.

And he didn't say, but not about Dean, but Dean heard it anyway. He exhaled in relief. Sam scrunched his hand through his hair. Holding his palms against his temples, he turned pained eyes on John.

Dean moved over to sit beside him. "Sam, you look like crap. Wait 'til morning. You need to rest." Dean cocked his head and turned towards John. "You should get settled in your room. I'll send Jim over when he gets back."

"I'm staying right here." John's body became rigid in the chair.

Dean chuckled. "No. You and Jim are moving to room fifteen."

"I'm staying with you boys." John's voice was calm and sure like he had no doubt.

Freakin', annoying-as-hell, doppelganger bastard. Dean stood up, braced for a fight. "Look, man. I got you a room…"

"Nah, Dean, he's right." Sam interrupted, voice partially muffled as he turned into his arm, groggy and hurting. "If we're in two separate rooms, you and I should split up."

"Who's right? Him?" Dean made an exaggerated wave towards John. He stared at his brother. "You're kidding me, Sam?"

Sam squinted up at him. "Dean – Dad's right." His tone was firmer this time. "One of us should stay with one of them. Think about it, man. They…they don't know what's going on."

"See. Sam agrees with me." John sounded surprised. He threw the key back to Dean. "Room fifteen. I'll send Jim in when he gets back." Then John smirked, actually smirked at him, the obnoxious bastard. "See you in the morning, kid."

**

Dean stormed out, cursing, and walked over to the snack machine beside the building. He bought some ranch chips, crunching them slowly between his teeth. If Sam hadn't looked like his head was about to explode, Dean would have punched him in his stupid, giant face for siding with other Dad.

"You confessed." Cas said.

Dean turned, choking in surprise. The angel stared, his eyes displaying his sympathetic expression as opposed to his more common 'I'm going to smite you' one.

"What?" Dean sprayed globs of ranch chips towards him. And, yes, these servants of God needed to stop sneaking up on him. This crap was getting pretty damn old. "Do we have to have the 'learn how to knock' talk again?"

The angel ignored him. "While you may not deserve the blame you put on yourself, Dean, confession is good for the soul. I did not expect this." Cas leaned back against the wall.

Dean swallowed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Dude, I just wanted the damned priest to give me some peace."

Cas nodded. "Absolution often brings peace." He said with serenity painted on his vessel's face.

"No." Dean said, annoyed. "I wanted him to leave me the hell alone."

The angel was unfazed. "This is a very good thing, Dean. It will strengthen you in the battles to come."

"If you say so." He didn't feel stronger. As a matter of fact, he felt worse – tired and achey and not hungry for the chips he was eating. He brushed the crumbs of his shirt. He looked up and the angel was still there. Which was…well…kind of awkward. "You fluttered away kinda fast the other day. So…how've you been?"

Cas's eyebrows rose in question.

"I mean, I'm guessing you're on the other angels' shit list, too." Dean cleared his throat. He never was good with the sharing and caring. "How you holding up?"

The angel sighed. Cas placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you should talk to your father about hell."

Dean stilled. He slapped his hand away. "Why? You think that would be good for my soul, too?"

"No. But we are…as you say, brothers in arms...I think it may ease your pain."

"He's not my father." Dean crumpled his half full potato chip bag and tossed it against the wall. It hadn't even hit the pavement when Sam's condescending voice filled his head. 'Don't litter, Dean. If we manage to save the world, people are going to want it clean.' And Sam must have trained him like damn Pavlov's dog because before he was thinking about it he picked up the bag and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Dean…" The exasperation was evident in the angel's voice.

"Dude, besides, he finds out about all that, he's gonna kick my ass." He pulled the crunchy, plastic bag from his pocket and let it drop from his fingertips. There. Sam could kiss his ass. The angel watched him. "Isn't there somewhere else you need to be?"

"You underestimate him."

"Who? John? Whatever. I don't want him to know." He kicked the crumpled bag against the wall. "Can't I at least have that?" He looked up at the darkening sky, and this time when he looked back, the angel was gone.

Two minutes later, he opened the door to the second room, which actually was purple with purple iris stenciling, and slammed his duffle on the floor.

**

Dean was being a problem. John rubbed his hand through his beard. He'd have a talk with Dean tomorrow – a serious talk. He needed to know Dean's take on what happened to Sam. And Adam. And he needed Dean to put his attitude back in check. But, first things first, Sam was ready to talk. And the boy needed him. He motioned him over.

Sam stumbled up and dropped into the chair beside him. He laid his head on the cheap table knocking over the plastic daffodils. "You never cut Dean any slack." Sam grumbled. "He's done everything you've ever asked and you're just harder on him."

"I think I know how to handle my own son, Sam." John snapped. And, yeah, he knew Sam was hurting. That he had suffered and was driven to terrible things. It didn't mean he was going to put up with his bullshit.

Sam frowned. "Not really your son. Neither of us." Sam put his head down and sighed into the table.

John groaned. Whatever had crawled up Dean's ass was catching. Despite appearances, Sam always followed his brother's lead. If Sam started calling him by his first name, too, he was going to lose it.

"Like I said, Sam. I'd know my _sons_ anywhere." John leaned on the table. He wondered if the other versions were just as pissed at him. He peered at Sam. "So, you going to tell me what happened?"

Sam sat up and nodded. "There's not much to tell, Dad. I screwed up." Sam turned his gaze to the rose-filled wall-paper, stretching his long legs out from the table.

"Okay." John said. Sam wasn't like Dean. When he said he screwed up, it meant he'd screwed up. "How?" Sam hesitated, but John wasn't letting it go this time. He scooted his chair closer to his son. "You tell me what happened, son. I want the truth."

"Alright." Sam said. "I killed this bitch…this demon, and let loose something worse. And now I'm a monster…well, you saw it." His voice dropped and John heard the shame creep into Sam's tone. "And part of me doesn't regret it." Sam turned to look at him, eyes watery. "I mean, how messed up is that, Dad. It's just…I'm still glad she's dead. As much as I regret everything else, I'm still really, really glad she's dead."

"Fair enough. But you're working to make the rest of it right?"

Sam sniffled. "Yes sir. I guess. I'm just not sure if it's possible…"

"That's what matters."

Sam inhaled deeply. "And I still need the blood. I still want it, Dad. It's like, it's like I almost don't care enough to fight it. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to stop."

John chuckled at that. "You're stubborn enough to do anything if you put your mind to it. Sounds like that's part of why you got yourself in trouble in the first place." John turned his expression hard. Sam still looked miserable. John wasn't too much for dealing out the sympathy. He figured a good kick in the ass would work just as well for his boy.

"Stop bellyaching about what you can't change. It's done, Sam. Now, fix it." John placed his hand on his son's arm. He added in a softer tone. "And don't demand that anyone kill you. You're too good for that, period."

"Okay." Sam said. "Okay…That an order?"

John caught his eyes. "I don't know. You never were that good at following my orders…Let's just call it a suggested course of action."

"Fine, Dad." Sam smiled with sad eyes. "Fine, I'll…consider it."

"You'll do it." John squeezed Sam's arm and nodded. "Sam, one other thing…"

"Hmmm?" Sam said leaning his head back against the wall.

This was the part John was dreading. "Demons, or that demon you killed, did they or did she…" John breathed in deeply through his nose. This part he wasn't good at. He needed to know, though. He needed to know just how bad it had gotten. "Did you get hurt, Sam?"

Sam squinted at him, but didn't lean forward. "We get hurt all the time, Dad. Part of the job."

"I know that, Sam." John barked. And wasn't it just like the boy to be exasperating even during a heart to heart about torture. "Worse than usual."

Sam's face contorted in confusion. "Worse how?"

"Sam…" Well, no one ever said John wasn't a blunt son of a gun. "Did you get tortured in hell for years on end?"

The confusion shattered off Sam's face leaving him pale.

"No."

"No? I want the truth, Sam."

Sam huffed out annoyed air. "I can't believe you…" he started. The doorknob turning grabbed his son's attention. John put his hand on his gun, watchful, as the door opened. Jim stepped inside. His eyes were dreamy and unfocused. And he didn't have any food.

John turned back to Sam. "Sam, did you get tortured? You tell me, son." He said gruff and harsh. "The demons told me they got a hold of my son. I know, Sam. Now you tell me what they did to you."

Jim coughed and stepped towards them. "John…"

"This is none of your business Jim." John pointed at the door. "Room fifteen. Your bunking with Dean." John held Sam's gaze. Sam glared back at him.

"John." The priest said in a firmer manner. "It's just…Sam isn't your only son."

**

At midnight, Jim still hadn't come in. Dean looked around the empty room feeling an uncomfortable twang in his gut. John would have called him if the priest hadn't come back. Jim must have decided to bunk with them. He turned off the television. The room sat quiet and uncomfortable. He flipped off the light, wishing he was in the room beside theirs.

Suddenly, something was gripping at his arms. Dean gulped in air, only to find it rancid and burning. The fingers gripping his skin began to tear into it – leaving jagged, leaking wounds. He heard his name and laughter, loud and sinister, in his ear. Hot breath tickled his neck. Something was shaking him. He felt the skin falling from the bone, hot and slick and meaty. Then something snaked around him. He was going to pop like some ridiculous balloon. Damn it hurt. Now he needed to wake up. Shit. Ragged breaths wheezed out. He was in hell. He was still in hell. Or maybe back in hell. But he'd been rescued? Right? He gasped, opening his eyes wide.

In front of him, an obnoxious looking purple flower was drawn on the wall. The carpet stuck to his skin. He looked down, realizing he was sprawled on the floor. Must have thrashed off the bed in the middle the dream. He inhaled a few more times. Another damn nightmare. He thought he had gotten over this stuff. Thank god no one was around to see the aftermath of this one. Dean closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Just a dream. Time to calm down. It was just another damn dream. He tried to get up, but was held in place. His heart rate quickened. The panic of the dream returned. He began to struggle.

"Shit, Dean. Calm down. It was just a dream."

Dean stilled. "Dad?" He wiggled. Oh crap. John friggin' Winchester was coiled around him. He'd probably seen his whole, damn fit. He felt his cheeks redden with heat. "Lemme up." Dean forced out, with as much venom as he could muster…which, sadly, wasn't much.

He felt the man sigh and loosen his grip. Dean scrambled to sit on the far bed. John lumbered up. He knocked a pillow out of the way and sat opposite him on the bed closest to the door.

Dean fixed his gaze at John. "Why are you here? I thought you were bunking with Sam."

"I changed my mind, Dean." There was no hint of anger in his voice, only resignation. "Last time I checked, I'm allowed to room with either of my sons."

Dean blinked, thoughtful. His cheek tickled. He wiped his hand across it only to find his face wet. He cursed, crossing his arms and looking towards the irises drawn on the wall. He snorted, turning back to John.

"Sam told you, didn't he?"

"Nope." John said. "Jim did. Said your angel showed up and excused the confidentiality thing."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean sat opposite of John. Embarrassment and anger flushed into his cheeks. Neither Jim, nor Cas, had any right to tell John his deep, dark secrets. To hell with the both of them, he decided. Dean jumped up and grabbed his gun.

"Dean, sit back down." John motioned to the bed.

Dean ignored him. He loaded the clip and moved towards the door. John stood up, blocking his way.

"Move it or lose it, John." Dean said.

"And where do you think you're going with that?" John motioned to the gun.

"Oh." He held it up. "I'm gonna go shoot that damn priest. Now move it."

"Like hell you are. You're sitting your ass down and we're talking about this." John sounded mad.

Dean gave him a not-so-playful shove. John budged, a little bit. Damn family full of giants. He glared at John.

"No. I'm leaving." Dean said. "And I don't give a damn what you do." He added with a heartless smile.

"You tell me exactly what happened, Dean." John's voice was loud and laced with anger.

"What's wrong? You only get the Cliff notes version from that lying priest?" Dean shouted back. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Dean, you tell me." John crossed his arms.

Dean mirrored him and smirked. "It's none of your damn business, John."

"Like hell it isn't." John's voice became commanding. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long did they have you, Dean?"

Dean huffed. What the hell did that matter? "Four months."

"Four months earth time or four months hell time."

Dean couldn't hide the surprise that fell over his features.

John snorted. "I spent my whole life chasing demons, you think I don't know a thing or two about hell." He moved closer. "Now how long?"

"Four months…earth time." Dean shook his head. "Why?"

John cursed. "How long until you got off the rack?"

"Why the hell does that matter?"

"Because I want to know, Dean. Now tell me."

John stood, rigid and unmoving, with a pissed frown adorning his face.

"Three months." Dean said, holding his hands up. "And?"

"Three months…earth time?"

"Yeah. So?" Dean listened to the petulant ring of his voice and shook his head in disgust. Damn John making him whine like a damn kid.

"So, you let them torture you for thirty years?"

Dean flung his hands out in frustration and glared at the purple walls. "It doesn't matter how long it was, what matters is that I got off of it. What's your problem, John?"

"Right now, you're my problem."

"Me?"

"That's right." John said, crowding his space.

Dean's anger returned fast and sharp. "You know what? You can just crawl back to whatever little messed up world you came from." He said. "I've got a priest to kill."

"We're not done here, Dean." John said, his large frame still blocking the exit.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way." Dean annunciated the words one at a time.

John, the stubborn bastard, didn't budge. "Who was it? Who held the contract?"

Dean pursed his lips, biting back a sorrowful chuckle. He was so passed the point of caring about this conversation. But this John was like his Dad, relentless. He inhaled.

"A demon named Lilith. Now move." Sometimes it was better just to give stubborn jackasses what they wanted and send them on the way. That was one thing his Dad and Sam had never quite figured out – being as they were typically the stubborn jackasses Dean dealt with.

"And where's this Lilith now?"

"Sam killed her." He said, feeling calm and detached now.

"Jim said something about an Alastair. Is that why you have the wards up?"

Dean paled. He shut his eyes. Even now when he heard that name he felt screams tumble in his throat and shame burn in his gut. Breathing deep, he opened his lids again. "No." He said. John watched him, the frown on his face deepening. "No." Dean repeated. "Sam killed him, too."

"Good." John nodded.

"Good? No. It isn't good. What do you think it was that pushed Sam quasi dark-side in the first place?"

That seemed to give the man pause. His face fell into thought. Dean sidestepped him, grabbing the doorknob.

"He'll be alright, though." John said from behind him. "That bastard had to be taken out, Dean. Sam understands that."

Dean hesitated. "It wasn't worth it."

"They hurt you."

"Well, then, I wasn't worth it. I figured you'd know that." Dean twisted the door knob. He turned back. "Just go home, John. You don't belong here."

**

John was only left alone with his thoughts for about five minutes. Jim stumbled in at that point, rumpled in sleep clothes. He was carrying his things in his arms liked they'd been shoved at him. A red splotch was forming under his right eye. John winced. He really hoped neither of his boys had hit the man.

"Dean is going to room with his brother." Jim said.

John pointed at his face. "What happened to your eye?"

"Sam threw my shoe at me while I was…gathering my things." The priest laughed, but sounded sad. "He gave me an earful after you left. Said his brother couldn't take many more people betraying his trust." Jim paused. "Dean seemed dejected when he came over." His friend waited like he expected John to explain it.

"Huh." John said. "That when you got hit by the shoe?"

Jim stared at him for a moment, smiling sadly. "This Sam has a bit of a temper. He also suggested I be careful with angels, even the well-meaning ones."

"Dean never would have told me."

Jim nodded. "Nor Sam. What are you going to do about all this?"

John paced the room, grabbing his stuff. "I'm going to go see Faye."

The priest tilted his head to the side. "I thought you were just blowing smoke at the boys. John, do you actually have a plan to handle this fairy and return home?"

"Yep." John stood up. "Get dressed."

The priest hesitated. His brows knitted in concentration. John knew he was thinking carefully about his next words. "I'll call Sam and Dean. Angry or not, they'll help out." He said finally. Jim set his clothes and shoes down on the purple bedspread and reached for the room phone.

John waved him away. "Just you and me on this one, Jim."

The priest frowned. "You do plan on telling them goodbye?" Jim held out his hands. "John, they're both vulnerable right now."

John pushed past him. "The bar's open 'til three in the morning. She'll be there. Hurry up. We'll go over the details on the way."

"You can't leave them like this." Jim said. "Not after everything they've been through."

John didn't answer. He walked out and waited on the curb. Despite his disdain, Jim came out of the room dressed and ready ten minutes later. He didn't say anything. John figured his friend knew him well enough to know arguing wouldn't change his mind.

**

John waited for Faye in the alley behind the bar. It was dark. Dirty brick walls flanked the side of the space. He'd left a fitful Jim on guard around front.

She sauntered over on the scent of pine leaves and earth. "John, you haven't been working very hard to earn my favor." She said.

"You need to open the door back to my world. And I want to be able to see it. No hidden portal this time."

"And why would I do that?" She tiptoed around him. "You two aren't enjoying yourselves here?"

"Just do it. You've had your fun." He said, following her movements around the dark space.

"Sam and Dean saved me. I gave them you. But, you haven't done anything. Why should I give you anything?" She paused. "How are the boys doing, John? I bet they had some choice words for you. I had Vegas odds on one of them shooting you by now."

John bristled. "Guess you don't know them that well."

She frowned prettily. "It's disappointing." She shrugged. "And you're here, but I don't see you bringing anything of value to me."

"You open the doorway and I don't kill you. How's that for a gift?"

Her eyes flashed a brilliant, angry green. "Well, it's about what I'd expect from you." Then she grinned, sure and unafraid. "You came here unarmed. And even if you found a way to tuck some cold iron in your clothes or boots, it's going to take a lot more than that to take me out." She cocked her head. "I'm older than you think, John. I didn't survive because I couldn't take on the occasional, misguided hunter."

"Alright." He said, stepping towards her. "But you should know that I don't let evil things go. You keep screwing around with me; I'll put you at the top of that list. And if you don't think I'm smart enough or determined enough to kill you, than you're damn lucky no one else has gotten you yet."

"You came here to threaten me?" Her pretty face became thoughtful; then fell into an amused pout. "I have heard you're unrelenting."

"So we have a deal?"

She sighed and waved her hand at the brick wall behind him. "You're no fun, John. You're lucky you're handsome. My kind values that." She held up her other hand. John grunted, surprised to find himself glued in place. Her voice became harsh; containing an unreal pitch that hurt his ears. "No following me." She said. "No mention of me in that journal of yours or to your hunter buddies…in either reality. You sell me out, John, you'll find out exactly why I've survived as long as I have. And your chances of winning against me are as low as they get." She stepped up and stroked his cheek with her delicate fingers, her words becoming soft and musical again. "But, you're right. You are dangerous. And so are you sons."

"So you agree." John forced from his pursed lips.

She nodded and stepped back. "It won't be open long."

John stumbled to the ground as his limbs returned to his control. A soft breeze blew through the alley and she was gone. He swore loudly and Jim came running towards him. The priest's eyes lit up as he looked at the doorway pulsing in the brick.

"She agreed, then." Jim said, surprise barely hidden in his words. He held out his hand

"Ye of little faith…" John grabbed it and pulled himself up. "Yeah. She agreed."

Jim nodded. "You sure about this, John." Jim gazed at him sadly. "You may not get a second chance."

"I'm sure." He said. "Take care of 'em. And hurry up."

Jim shook his hand. His friend let go and John watched as the priest stepped through the doorway and disappeared. John waited. Five minutes later, the door disappeared, leaving him alone with a dirty, brick wall and a dark alley.

_**I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for the reviews! Probably chapter 8 will be the final one. I'll try to get it up this week, but I've been having some issues uploading files. I think I've found a way around it though. **_


	8. Chapter 8

Dean squinted awake to find his brother watching him. Sam's face was pinched with concern. He was rubbing his arm feverishly and Dean turned towards the window. The first signs of morning sunlight highlighted the curtains. Dean bit his lip. Sam was getting jittery already? Shit. He'd need to hide the bottles with the blood. Get rid of the temptation. Sam would have to go longer than a day if he was going to beat this thing.

"Hey." Sam's voice was robust with concern, and despite his brother's fluttered movements, Dean let out a relieved breath at his calm and controlled tone. Maybe it wasn't the addiction that was bothering his brother. "Have you been having nightmares again?" Sam said.

Dean groaned and turned back towards him. Damn Sam back to noticing everything again. At times, he almost preferred the Sam that lied and didn't pay attention to him. Well, not really, but he wished he could hide a few more things.

"Yeah." Dean said with a mirthless grin. "I dreamt that some Dad look-a-like showed up and started giving us hell."

Sam ignored the statement. "You gonna have a drink?" He sounded curious.

"Nah." Dean sat up. "I'm giving it up."

Sam huffed. "You had a quarter of jack yesterday afternoon."

"There's a difference between having a drink and drinking." Dean put on his best older brother voice. "I'm setting a good example about overcoming addictions."

Sam blinked at him for a few moments like he was trying to figure him out. He finally rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "We should go check on the two of them."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "And why the hell should we do that? They can meet us later at breakfast if they want to see us. Why should we go to them?"

Sam sighed. "I know you're upset, but it was a bad move to leave them alone. What happens if a high level demon shows up at their door?" Sam snorted. "Or a pissed off angel? Dad and Jim may have figured some stuff out, but let's face it, they have no idea what's really going on here. Leaving them alone is asking for trouble."

"You're the one that threw the shoe." Dean reminded him. He stretched out on the end of the bed and exhaled. "Let's just find a way to get them home." He nodded towards Sam's duffle. "Anything in the journal about the fairy folk?"

Sam pulled the leather-bound bundle from his bag. "Let's see…" His brother flipped absently through the pages. His brow furrowed and he stopped halfway through with a constipated expression.

"Sam?"

Sam set the journal down and stared at it like a traitor. He bent over, ripping his bag open. "I don't believe this…" He began to throw things out. Then he looked up at Dean and frowned. "I mean…it's gotta be a mistake, right?" Sam asked. Dean had no friggin' idea what he meant.

Dean waited. Sam kept his eyes trained on him as if he had the answer. Dean quirked an eyebrow. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Sam."

"Oh. It's just…" Sam's eyes darkened with anger. "Dean. This is the wrong journal. It's the other one. Not Dad's…but Dad's." Sam blinked. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Oh." Dean said. "Maybe they got switched?" He offered. But despite his attempts at thinking alternatives to 'stolen'; he felt the mad rush of anger in his gut.

Sam shook his head, standing up, tall and shaking. "My personal notes are gone, too." He paused, chest rising as he took in air. "So is the knife."

"The magic knife?" Disbelief flooded into Dean's tone. "When's the last time you remember having it?"

"I put it away when I was alone with Dad. Right before I fell asleep yesterday." Sam pulled on his jacket.

Dean jumped up, giddy for a fight. "Guess I'm up for paying the two of them an early morning visit after all."

Dean cursed and spat during the short walk to room fifteen. He turned back to check on Sam and his brother appeared equally pissed off. Sam's expression, however, softened after a few steps and he grabbed Dean's shoulder, stopping their forward movement feet from the door.

"Don't hit anybody." Sam said. "We can talk this out."

"Right." Dean didn't buy that. "We'll see." And he was in the mood to hurt something.

They stormed into the purple room, hearing the ominous tick of the ancient motel alarm clock as it flipped to six am. John was standing near the back of the room. He rubbed his hands over his stubbly beard.

"Hey, boys." He said, taking in there twinned, angry expressions. "I was on my way to talk to you both."

"Can it." Dean yelled. "Where's the journal? Where's the knife?" Dean stopped and glanced around the room. "And where's Jim? If he's off talking to Cas again, I'm gonna kick both their asses."

"Jim went home."

Dean blinked at him. "Home?" He said dumbly.

"Faye sent him back. The journal and knife went with him."

Dean sensed Sam tensing beside him. He recovered from his brain freeze as John's words formed meaning in his mind. "Wait…You're telling me that priest stole our Dad's journal and our magic knife and just went back to lala land."

"No. I tucked them into his stuff before he stepped through the portal. He didn't know."

"You tucked it into his…what the hell?" And now Dean was pissed. Or more pissed. Whatever. He needed to kill something. The man standing in front of him was looking like a pretty good something right now. "Sam and I need that knife. We're fighting the damned apocalypse here."

"I understand that, Dean." John's words were slow and placating. "But Jim needs those things to protect you boys in my world. The worlds exist in parallel. This could happen there, too."

"Well, that's just great." Dean made a fist. He motioned to himself and Sam. "And what about us? We're the ones fighting a freakin' war."

"I know, Dean. Why the hell do you think I stayed behind?"

"I'd rather have the knife." Dean pushed into his space. "Get it back."

"Can't." John said, moving forward. "It's done. Faye's gone."

"What do you mean she's gone?" Dean said. "What the hell did you do?"

"I sent him back and I told her to go."

Dean gaped at him. He waited for a response to form on his lips – some comment that would express his angry, confused, and betrayed-like emotions. But his mind remained frustratingly blank. He stood there open mouthed until his brother stepped beside him. Sam shot him a concerned glance before turning to John.

"You had no right to do that." His brother said in a low dangerous tone. "You took my notes too."

"You should trust me on this. Besides, Sam, I know you keep back-ups of everything you write. I'm your father." John said as if that made it okay.

Dean's found his voice. "No you're not."

John peered at him, shaking his head. "This is one dangerous mess you boys have fallen into. You need me a helluva lot more than some knife."

Dean huffed, his mind now racing. "Dude – Sam and I – we're adults. Perfectly capable of screwing the pooch on our own. We got ourselves into this mess. We'll get ourselves out. What we need is a magic, demon killing knife. Not an overgrown watchdog ordering us around and treating us like children."

"You are my children." John growled.

Sam sighed, stepping up and holding an arm up to prevent Dean from charging the man. "You've said that before." He said.

"Well." John smiled. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Dean threw up his hands. He still wanted to kill the man. But it wasn't really worth it. He'd feel bad about it later even if it wasn't really his Dad. "Whatever." He said. "You want to stay here. Stay here. But keep out of our way. Take anything else, and you'll be on our hit list. Sam and I have an apocalypse to avert." Dean stormed out. Sam gave John one last disapproving glance and followed his brother outside.

**

John wasn't one to second guess himself. Nor did he fool himself into thinking things would be easy. He might regret actions and consequences, but he stood by the decisions he made. Dean and Sam needed time to adjust. He'd known they'd be angry. Hell, they had a right to be. But he now had four children to look after and this was the best thing he'd been able to come up with. Some righteous anger was good for them. Besides, he knew they'd come around in time. A voice in the room jolted him from his thoughts.

"You stayed," said a man's voice from behind him. John tried to hide his surprise at finding someone else in the room and turned slowly around. The man wore a blue tie and long trench coat – the same man he'd seen in the alley two days ago.

"So…" John took a good look at the angel. "You're Castiel." He wasn't impressed.

"Yes."

John gave him another once over and decided he didn't like angels much. This one had pulled his son from the pit, though, so John figured he owed him. However…

"You should have saved him sooner." John said, hearing the anger and accusation in his voice and not caring. The angel peered at him. John got the impression that he agreed.

"You know Sam is special. But Dean is as well." Castiel said, watching him.

John glowered. He'd raised those kids - more less anyway. He'd hunted with them. He damn well knew both of his boys were one of kind. He didn't need a lecture from some heavenly busy body on his sons.

The angel pursed his lips. "It's not like you're thinking – although there is truth in their worth because of their humanity. But he's not like other people. He's different. Important…they both are."

John frowned. The last time he'd heard a speech like that he'd found out Sam had been infected with demon blood. Of course, that had been from some poor possessed soul he'd tied up and force fed holy water. This information was coming from a supposed angel. But if he was honest, he was finding it hard to see that big of difference between the two.

"What do you mean? Because he was tortured in hell? Because he broke some seal?"

"No. That happened because he is special; it is not why he is special." The angel looked towards the sky. "They do not want you here." He said. And John knew he wasn't talking about Sam and Dean.

"But you do." John said. He paused. "You convince that fairy to bring me here?"

"The heavenly host do not corroborate with such creatures. Nor do we open such doors." There was the slight flavor of offense in the angel's tone. "But her actions did create certain…opportunities."

When Castiel failed to offer anything more, John went back to the question of his oldest. "As far as I know, Dean is as human as they come." John waited. He felt ready for the punch and braced himself before asking the question. "So why is he special?"

"I do not know the details." Castiel gazed at him. "But you are good at finding patterns. Discovering information. Perhaps in this way alone you outshine your sons on the hunt."

John lips twisted into a grin. So the angel thought his boys were better hunters than him in most ways. John had no problem with that. It had probably been true since the kids were teenagers. Well, the son of a bitch was observant. He'd give him that.

"And?" John asked.

"And…we need to find out the details. I have other...avenues I must investigate. Your sons have to fight. Besides, I think this subject of exploration would be difficult for them." The angel paused, his voice deep and commanding. "But you, you will do this."

"I don't take orders from you." John growled back at him.

"I am not asking this of you for me." Castiel said. And suddenly the angel seemed nothing like a demon to John. He continued. "I am asking this of you for them. Find out everything you can. "

"I should stay with the boys."

"You can't protect them from this, John. It is their fight. But you can help them." The angel said. "Dean doesn't trust you right now. You took the knife and the journal."

John chuckled. He'd expected that reaction, but he didn't have a choice. "I have two sets of children to protect. He's special here, he's special there. I'm getting that right?"

"Yes." The angel sighed.

"My boys back home needed the information. They needed the knife. Maybe with that and the info they can prevent this fiasco before it gets out of hand there." John said. "But this Sam and Dean, we both know the battles their facing aren't going to be won by that knife. I stayed so I could fight with them." John moved into the angel's space. "I'll look after every incarnation of my sons I find."

"I understand." The angel cocked his head, reminding John suddenly of an overgrown chicken. "But, you need to look into this on your own. It is the best way to help them. There will be time to regain a bond after the battle. Sam's anger burns fast, but he is used to fighting and making up with you. And Dean may not trust you, but he still loves you, regardless of your actions or your point of origin. He forgave Sam. In time, he'll forgive you."

John grunted. He didn't like the idea of leaving them. But if Dean had been marked by heaven or hell…dammit...that was something he needed to know everything about. He nodded. "Alright." He said in slow, measured words. "I'll do it…at least for now."

The angel looked around the room. "Stay hidden. I will contact you when I can. You will be hunted by forces of heaven and hell if they find out you are here and working with us."

"That's nothing new."

The angel turned to stare at him again. "Be careful." There was a fluttering and Castiel was gone.

**

Dean threw his bag into the back of the car. "Hurry up, Sam. We're leaving."

Sam chewed on his lip. He stood beside the door to the car, but didn't move to open it. Dean remembered the same expression from years of town hopping when Sam was younger. His brother didn't want to go yet.

"WHAT?" Dean yelled.

"Are we just gonna leave him?" Sam asked.

"You gave him a damn credit card. He can take care of himself." Dean opened the door, ready for a fast drive with loud music. He gave the hotel a last look and slammed his fist on top of his car. "Dammit." He saw John walking around the corner of the building. And, of course, Sam was moving towards him. Dean patted the car. "Sorry baby, I'm not mad at you." He ran his hand through his hair before yelling to his brother.

"Sam. We're leaving."

Dean waited. Sam stopped. Turned. Glared at him. Then glared at John. Oh great. Apparently Sam was pissed at everyone. "Crap." Dean said, walking to his brother.

"What do you want?" Sam asked John.

John shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you. You boys heading out?"

Dean pushed himself in front of his brother. "That's right. And you're not invited. So get lost already."

Sam shuffled behind him. "Dean…let's hear what he has to say." His brother sounded angry. "Then we'll leave his ass." Dean chuckled.

"Fair enough." John smiled at each of them. "I just wanted to say that after everything you've been through, you survived. You're still fighting. I wanted you to know, I am proud of you both. I always have been."

Dean snorted. "You don't know us." He said.

"Yeah, Dean, I think I do." John said. He reached out. Gave Dean a hug. Dean returned it, shocked at himself. He blamed muscle memory or something. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of." John whispered in his ear.

John let him go. Dean watched as he did the same thing to a surprised, unmoving Sam. He whispered something Dean couldn't hear in his brother's ear as well. Sam's face twisted into a weird, devastated expression. But there was some sort of relief mixed in there too. Dean scratched his head. They could compare notes later.

John stepped back. "I need to get going myself. Give me your contact information. I'll call you when I can."

Dean bristled. "Wait…you're staying in this world, but you're leaving us." Dean looked away. He hated that he sounded like a freakin' ten year old when he said it. And even if he'd been planning on leaving John, it didn't mean he wasn't disappointed that John was planning the same thing.

John crossed his arms and stared at him. He offered him a small, sad smile. "I don't want to go, Dean, but it's necessary. Like you said – this is war. Everything's at stake." John put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this." Dean gazed at him. John looked stubborn and sad and sure of himself.

"Okay." Dean said, his anger waning. "Okay. We'll see you around then."

Sam stayed still for a moment. "Bye, Dad." His brother said, sounding awkward and unsure. "Stay in touch."

"I'll do my best, boys." John said. And, despite everything, Dean believed that. And that's all he'd ever asked of the man. John cleared his throat. "Take care Sammy. See you later, Dean."

Dean nodded, feeling a bit lighter. Not that he trusted the man. Not yet. Or that he was happy with him. But something felt better. And Dean had learned to take what he could get.

"Yeah." Dean inhaled. "Bye Dad." He said. He motioned to Sam. "Come on, Sam. We're burning daylight. Let's go."

**This is the end. So I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for all the reviews! **


	9. Chapter 9

_**Note: This is more less an AU, but there are some Season 5 spoilers in this part. I've been a little hesitant to put this up (it's kinda an epilogue type thing) But a few people requested more to this fic, so I thought they might enjoy it. Thank you for reading. **_

_Three weeks later…_

Sam watched the landscape from the window of the car. The sun hung low in the sky and no rays warmed the dark leather in the front seat. He turned to Dean. "You should let me drive, Dean."

Dean snarled at him.

"Look, man. I know it's your turn, but you're exhausted." Sam said.

Dean thumped the steering wheel. He cut his eyes towards Sam. "I'm fine, Sam."

Sam crossed his arms. This wasn't over.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Sam glanced down at his cell phone. _1 new text message. _ Sam sighed, banging his head against the back of his seat. More shit to deal with.

"Another one from clone Dad?" Now Dean sounded amused.

"What do you think?" Sam rubbed his forehead. He took in a deep inhale and clicked on the message.

_Sam. Angel Vessel. Careful. Being hunted. Dad. _

Sam let his head loll back and turned off his phone.

"What is it this time?" Dean's turned and looked at him. "I mean. Is he bored or is there a point to it?" Dark circles surrounded his eyes. The wheels of the car slipped off the road and they bumped onto the rough shoulder.

"Dean! Road." Sam glared. He bit his lip, thinking about the text. "You know, he's not…exactly…like Dad."

"Yeah, I know. Clone Dad's from a freakin' parallel universe. You just figuring this out Sam? You're supposed to be the smart one." Dean sounded impatient. "What did he send you?" His brother's face fell into thought. "If he starts sending coordinates like the other one, I'm gonna find him and kick his…"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Mine's off." Sam gave Dean a pointed look. His brother fumbled in his pockets for his cell. The car swerved to the right.

"Dammit." Dean said, straightening the car in the lane. "What the hell. How's he even got time for this…" Dean scowled down at the phone and threw it over to Sam. Sam read the message.

_Dean. Angel Vessel. Careful. Being hunted. Dad._

"Sent me the same thing." Sam said. "I'm going to text him back and tell him we already know this shit." Sam smirked. He typed into Dean's phone – _Thanks. Any info we don't know? Useful? – _ and hit send.

"Dude." Dean scowled over at him. "Stop that. You're encouraging him again." His brother cocked his head down at the cell. "Did you send it on my phone? What the hell, Sam. Now he's gonna keep sending me messages for the rest of the day." Dean made a reach for the phone. "Bitch." He grumbled when Sam held it out of reach. At least Dean sounded halfway awake.

"You're the one that sends him two messages a day." Sam flattened his tone. "One in the morning and one in the night. Like clockwork."

"Two a day, Sam. The man doesn't know another soul in this world except us. I'm being a good, you know, other son." Dean frowned. "Which is a hella lot more than the asshole deserves." He added under his breath. "Besides." He turned back to Sam. "You're the one that texts him like a stupid middle schooler every time we drive any distance. It's embarrassing."

"I text him when I'm bored." Sam heard the offense in his voice. Hell. He'd turned his phone off after the message, afterall. "And it's only been like four times."

"In three weeks. For two hours each time."

"Well, you do it every day. That's worse."

"No." Dean voice rang firm in the car. "It's not. You do it because you want to. I do it out of duty."

Sam shook his head. "Whatever." He rubbed the phone in his hand. "He's already taken out three demons and two ghouls. You'd think hunting nonstop would put the texting thing to rest."

"Yeah. And when did our version ever give anything a rest?"

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _Dean's phone beeped again.

Dean huffed. He motioned Sam to hand him his phone, lips twitching down as air puffed out his lips. Sam grinned at him and flipped it open again.

_Smart ass. Nightmares?_

"Hey? Don't read it." Dean reached over, grabbed it, and flipped it shut. "You want to play phone tag with other Dad, use your own damn cell." He stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

"Fine."

Sam's mind flittered over the message. He glanced at his brother. "Does he…uh…always ask about the nightmares. I mean, do you two talk about them?"

Dean hung his head down and clenched his jaw. He glowered at Sam. "I don't know, Sam. He always ask you about the blood addiction?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Sam repeated. "He's not worried about it."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "He's not worried about you drinking demon blood? Really?"

"No. Just hunts and stuff. And the apocalypse." And you…but Sam kept that in his head. He shrugged. "Before he left. He told me I was a helluva lot stronger than the demon blood." Sam looked away from his brother. "It's like that flipped a switch. I'll beat it." Sam huffed. "I wish I could say the same for the apocalypse."

Dean didn't comment. His face turned thoughtful. The lines near his eyes tightened. Sam watched him and pulled out his Blackberry. He turned it back on. Sam wondered if his brother could fall asleep at the wheel while that tense. He glanced down at his phone. _1 new text message._ He hit read.

_Hunting a ghoul. _

"He's hunting a ghoul." He informed Dean.

"Another one?" Dean scratched his head. "What's with him and ghouls? Seems like all he wants to hunt are those and demons. I'm going to tell Cas to send him after a damn spirit."

Sam bit his lip. "I told him about Adam."

"Oh." Dean said and then kept quiet.

_Where?_ Sam sent back. The message came back immediately.

_Texas. On my way there now._

"Huh." Sam heard the irritation in his voice. He nudged his brother with his elbow. "He's doing it while he's driving." Dean either didn't hear or didn't care because he didn't react. Maybe he was lost in thought again. Or asleep. Sam peered at him. No. His fool brother was awake. Well, his eyes were open anyway. Sam shook his head. "Idiots." His swift fingers sent a return note.

_Dont msg & drive. Dangerous._

John messaged back within a minute.

_Ur a good kid._

"Dude." Sam held up his cell to his brother hoping to bring him out of his head. He waved the phone in front of him. "He's learning the slang, Dean."

Dean glanced at it and shrugged. "If you don't want him driving and doing it, turn off your phone."

Sam considered that. "Yeah." He kept it on. "I guess."

"Don't sound so broken-hearted there, Sammy." Dean laughed but he didn't sound happy. He sounded bitter; pissed off. Sam contemplated him.

"Why?" Sam put the phone on vibrate. "Why'd you forgive him, Dean? You were pissed at him long before he stole the knife."

"I forgave you." Dean said it fast and low.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. The comment stung. "You sure about that?" Sam voice came out harsh. "Because everything's been normal for a while and then you throw everything back in my face."

Dean's face flushed with guilt. "Sam…"

Sam pushed his hand through his hair. He tried to let his anger drain out of him. He waited a moment until it was replaced with something else.

"I'm sorry. I just…I…" Sam sighed. "I deserve it, I guess."

Dean snorted. "Nah…" He reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "Just give me…time...for the forgetting." Dean grinned at him. "The end of days sucks." Dean rubbed his eyes, blinking at the car ahead.

"You haven't been sleeping." Sam peered at him.

Dean shrugged. "Been fighting heaven and hell, Sam."

Sam laid his cheek against the cool glass of the Impala window and glanced at his brother. Dean was quiet – staring straight ahead. He fidgeted under Sam's gaze, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"What?" His brother's voice rang in annoyance thirty seconds later.

"You started calling him Dad." Sam said.

Dean cut his eyes at him. "It's easier than 'hey you' or 'obsessed bastard'."

Sam was quiet for a few moments. Then he turned back to his brother. "He stole the knife. He took the journal. He split from us…"

"We were going to leave him, Sam." Dean cut in. And Sam wondered if Dean was actually defending the man now.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. But, still, he would have left us anyway. And you let him off the hook. How come?"

Dean's eyebrows quirked in disbelief. "Me? You practically adopted the man the night he showed up."

"Dude, you hugged him."

"So did you!" Dean yelled.

"Technically, I was hugged by him." Sam pointed out. "You actively hugged back."

His brother sighed, clearly irritated. "What's your point, Sam."

"It just…you've been so pissed at the original. And then clone Dad shows up. And you're pissed at him. Then poof. You let it all go. Just like that. You're ready to play happy family. I don't get it, Dean. Why'd you forgive him? "

"I haven't."

Sam pulled up in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. "You haven't? Cause it really seems like you have, Dean."

Dean squinted at him and he whipped the car around a slow-moving Ford. "Why does it matter, Sam? You've been gung-ho about the twin since he popped up in that bar."

"And you were pissed."

"Okay. You're giving me crap now..." Dean turned to him, frustration evident in his tight expression. "Cause I'm not mad at him anymore? When you've been treating him like the second coming or something."

"I'm trying to understand, Dean."

The exasperation on his brother's face deepened. "People are going to do what they want to do, Sam. And you can either accept them or cut them out…" Dean paused. "So…he's stuck here. And I don't want to cut him out."

"But you haven't forgiven him?"

"I'm working on it." Dean frowned.

"Oh." Sam settled back in his seat. His heart started to vibrate. He glanced back down at the message. _Ur a good kid. _Anger seeped up into his chest. "I think I might hate him."

Dean scrunched his brows in confusion. "Yeah. I can tell. With all the messaging and giving him credit cards. Way to hold a grudge there, Sam."

Sam moved his eyes so he was watching the blur of scenery racing by the window. "I wanted to hurt him…when I told him about Adam." The admission left him feeling empty.

Dean was quiet. Sam knew he didn't like talking about any of it. His older brother's emotions were twisted on the subject. He felt guilty they didn't save the kid. Angry for not knowing about him. Jealous of his life. Sam sighed. But Dean wasn't mad about the way their dad had kept the kid in the dark. Dean told him after they'd burned the body that Adam was Dad's son and Dan had done good by him. Maybe it was petty and selfish, but Sam didn't feel that way. He hadn't escaped. Dean sure as hell hadn't escaped. Why should Adam get normal? Get that side of their dad. Not to mention he'd probably be alive if John had trained him. Sam sighed, loud and suffering. Shit. What type of person did that make him?

"He'd have found out sooner or later." Dean said cutting the silence. His brother paused and started laughing. And really. Dean needed to pull over and let Sam drive. Sam turned back to him.

"What's so funny?"

"Hell, Sam. You probably single handedly doomed the ghoul population in the lower forty-eight with that one."

"I guess…" Sam said. "So what does he text you about?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sam. Stuff."

"Stuff like the nightmares?" Sam asked for two reasons. One, well, he wanted to know. And, two, he wanted to keep the jerk awake. He gauged his brother's reaction. Dean's face reddened. He gripped the stirring wheel tighter. Sam fought a grin. Dean was about to blow.

"YES." Dean's voice bellowed. "And stupid stuff like that last one." He pointed to Sam's phone.

Sam looked at the message. "The 'Ur a good kid'?" Sam bit his lip. "Huh."

"We done talking now?" Dean bit out.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I don't know. You gonna pull over and let me drive?"

"Screw you, Sam."

Sam smiled at him. He shifted the phone from hand to hand, staring at it.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean's nostrils flared. "What. Sam." He gritted out.

Sam smirked, but then fell back into articulating his thoughts. "Why do you think he's doing it? The messaging? I mean…the hunting ones I get. But why the ones like the last one?"

Dean looked at him like he was stupid and shook his head.

"What?" Sam said.

"Sam." And damn Dean if he hadn't slipped into his 'I'm older and know so much more' than you voice. "We're screwed to hell here. Literally. Figuratively. Whatever." Dean turned to him. "He feels guilty. That's why he's sending that crap." He put his eyes back on the road.

"Huh." Sam tapped the phone. "You know. That doesn't mean he doesn't mean it."

"Maybe." Dean's lips twitched down. He rubbed his eyes and glared at Sam. "You're going to keep on talking, aren't you?" He pulled the car to the side of the road. The engine's rumble pattered off. Dean put his hand on the door handle. He turned to Sam and he cleared his throat. "But he's right about one thing." Dean turned away and spoke softly. "You are a good kid, Sammy."


End file.
